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The Chore Boy of Camp Kippewa 













THE 


CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 



J. MACDONALD OXLEY. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 
1420 Chestnut Street. 


<y* 






Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, by the 
AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


CHAPTER . I. 

The Call to Work, 5 

CHAPTER II. 

The Choice of an Occupation, 16 

CHAPTER III. 

Off to the Woods 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Building of the Shanty, 38 

CHAPTER V. 

Standing Fire, 51 

CHAPTER VI. 


Life in the Lumber Camp, 61 

3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER VII. 

A Thrilling Experience, 73 

CHAPTER VIII. 

In the Nick of Time, 85 

CHAPTER IX. 

Out of Clouds, Sunshine, 96 

CHAPTER X. 

A Hunting Trip, 107 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Great Spring Drive, 120 

CHAPTER XII. 

Home Again, 133 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE CALL TO WORK. 

T HE march of civilization on this great continent 
means loss as well as gain. The opening up of the 
country for settlement, the increase and spread of popu- 
lation, the making of the wilderness to blossom as the 
rose, compel the gradual retreat and disappearance of in- 
teresting features that can never be replaced. The 
buffalo, the beaver, and the elk have gone ; the bear, the 
Indian, and the forest in which they are both most at 
home are fast following. 

Along the northern border of settlement in Canada 
there are flourishing villages and thriving hamlets to- 
day where but a few years ago the verdurous billows of 
the primeval forest rolled in unbroken grandeur. The 
history of any one of these villages is the history of all. 
An open space beside the bank of a stream or margin of 

a lake presented itself to the keen eye of the woodranger 

5 


6 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


traversing the trackless waste of forest as a fine site for a 
lumber camp. In course of time the lumber camp grew 
into a depot from which other camps, set still further 
back in the depths of the “ limits,” are supplied. Then 
the depot develops into a settlement surrounded by 
farms ; the settlement gathers itself into a village with 
shops, schools, churches, and hotels, and so the process of 
growth goes on, the forest ever retreating as the dwell- 
ings of men multiply. 

It was in a village with just such a history, and bear- 
ing the name of Calumet, occupying a commanding 
situation on a vigorous tributary of the Ottawa River, — 
the Grand River, as the dwellers beside its banks are 
fond of calling it, — that Frank Kingston first made the 
discovery of his own existence and of the world around 
him. He at once proceeded to make himself master of 
the situation, and so long as he confined his efforts to the 
limits of his own home he met with an encouraging 
degree of success ; for he was an only child, and, his 
father’s occupation requiring him to be away from home 
a large part of the year, his mother could hardly be 
severely blamed if she permitted her boy to have a good 
deal of his own way. 

In the result, however, he was not spoiled. He came 
of sturdy, sensible stock, and had inherited some of the 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 7 

best qualities from both sides of the house. To his mother, 
he owed his fair curly hair, his deep blue, honest eyes, 
his impulsive and tender heart ; to his father, his strong 
symmetrical figure, his quick brain, and his eager am- 
bition. He was a good-looking, if not strikingly hand- 
some, boy, and carried himself in an alert, active way, 
that made a good impression on one at the start. He 
had a quick temper that would flash out hotly if he were 
provoked, and at such times he would do and say things 
for which he was heartily sorry afterward. But from 
those hateful qualities that we call malice, rancor, and 
sullenness he was absolutely free. To “ have it out ” and 
then shake hands and forget all about it — that was his 
way of dealing with a disagreement. Boys built on 
these lines are always popular among their comrades, and 
Frank was no exception. In fact, if one of those ami- 
cable contests as to the most popular personage, now so 
much in vogue at fairs and bazaars, were to have been 
held in Calumet school the probabilities were all in favor 
of Frank coming out at the head of the poll. 

But better, because more enduring, than all these good 
qualities of body, head, and heart that formed Frank’s 
sole fortune in the world, was the thorough religious 
training upon which they were based. His mother had 
left a Christian household to help her husband found a 


8 


THE CHOBE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


new home in the great Canadian tiinberland, and this 
new home had ever been a sweet, serene center of light 
and love. While Calumet was little more than a strag- 
gling collection of unlovely frame cottages, and too small 
to have a church and pastor of its own, the hard-work- 
ing Christian minister who managed to make his way 
thither once a month or so, to hold service in the little 
schoolroom, was always sure of the heartiest kind of a 
welcome, and the daintiest dinner possible in that out-of- 
the way place, at Mrs. Kingston’s cozy cottage ; and thus 
Frank had been brought into friendly relations with the 
‘‘ men in black ” from the start, with the good result of 
causing him to love and respect these zealous home mis- 
sionaries instead of shrinking from them in vague repug- 
nance, as did many of his companions who had not his 
opportunities. 

When he grew old enough to be trusted, it was his 
proud privilege to take the minister’s tired horse to water 
and to fill the rack with sweet hay for his refreshment 
before they all went off to the service together ; and very 
frequently when the minister was leaving he would take 
Frank up beside him for a drive as far as the cross-roads, 
not losing the chance to say a kindly and encouraging 
word or two that might help the little fellow heaven- 
ward. 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


9 


In due time the settlement so prospered and expanded 
that a little church was established there, and great was 
the delight of Mrs. Kingston when Calumet had its 
minister, to whom she continued to be a most effective 
helper. This love for the church and its workers, which 
was more manifest in her than in her husband, — for, 
although he thought and felt alike with her, he was a re- 
served, undemonstrative man, — Mrs. Kingston sought by 
every wise means to instill into her only son ; and she had 
much success. Religion had no terrors for him. He 
had never thought of it as a gloomy, joy-dispelling 
influence that would make him a long-faced “ softy.” 
Not a bit of it. His father was religious ; and who was 
stronger, braver, or more manly than his father ? His 
mother was a pious woman; and who could laugh more 
cheerily or romp more merrily than his mother ? The 
ministers who came to the house were men of God, and 
yet they were full of life and spirits, and dinner never 
seemed more delightful than when they sat at the table. 
No, indeed ! You would have had a hard job to per- 
suade Frank Kingston that you lost anything by being 
religious. He knew far better than that ; and while of 
course he was too thorough a boy, with all a boy’s hasty, 
hearty, impulsive ways, to do every thing “ decently and 
in order,” and would kick over the traces, so to speak, 


10 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

sometimes, and give rather startling exhibitions of 
temper, still in the main and at heart he was a sturdy 
little Christian, who, when the storm was over, felt more 
sorry and remembered it longer than did anybody else. 

Out of the way as Calumet might seem to city folk, yet 
the boys of the place managed to have a very good time. 
There were nearly a hundred of them, ranging in age 
from seven years to seventeen, attending the school which 
stood in the center of a big lot at the western end of the 
village, and with swimming, boating, lacrosse, and baseball 
in summer, and skating, snow-shoeing, and tobogganing 
in winter, they never lacked for fun. Frank was expert 
in all these sports. Some of the boys might excel him at 
one or another of them, but not one of his companions 
could beat him in all-round contest. This was due in 
part to the strength and symmetry of his frame, and in 
part to that spirit of thoroughness which characterized 
all he undertook. There was nothing half-way about 
him. He put his whole soul into everything that in- 
terested him, and, so far as play was concerned, at fifteen 
years of age he could swim, run, handle a lacrosse, hit a 
base ball, skim over the ice on skates, or over snow on 
snow shoes with a dexterity that gave himself a vast 
amount of pleasure and his parents a good deal of pride 
in him. 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


11 


Nor was he behindhand as regarded the training of 
his mind. Mr. W arren, the head teacher of the Calumet 
school, regarded him favorably as one of his best and 
brightest pupils, and it was not often that the “ roll of 
honor ” failed to contain the name of Frank Kingston. 
At the midsummer closing of the school it was Mr. War- 
ren’s practice to award a number of simple prizes to the 
pupils whose record throughout the half-year had been 
highest in the different subjects, and year after year 
Frank had won a goodly share of these trophies, which 
were always books, so that now there was a shelf in his 
room upon which stood in attractive array Livingstone’s 
“ Travels,” Ballantyne’s “ Hudson’s Bay,” Kingsley’s 
“ Westward Ho ! ” side by side with “ Robinson Crusoe,” 
“ Pilgrim’s Progress,” and “ Tom Brown at Rugby.” 
Frank knew these books almost by heart, yet never 
wearied of turning to them again and again. He 
drew inspiration from them. They helped to mold his 
character, although of this he was hardly conscious, and 
they filled his soul with a longing for adventure and 
enterprise that no ordinary every-day career could 
satisfy. He looked forward eagerly to the time when he 
would take a man’s part in life and attempt and achieve 
notable deeds. With Amyas Leigh he traversed the 
tropical wilderness of Southern America, or with the 


12 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


“Young Fur Traders” the hard-frozen wastes of the 
boundless North, and he burned to emulate their brave 
doings. He little knew, as he indulged in these boyish 
imaginations, that the time was not far off when the call 
would come to him to begin life in dead earnest on his 
own account, and with as many obstacles to be over- 
come in his way as had any of his favorite heroes in 
theirs. 

Mr. Kingston was at home only during the summer 
season. The long cold winter months were spent by him 
at the “ depot,” many miles off in the heart of the forest, 
or at the “ shanties,” that were connected with it. At 
rare intervals during the winter he might manage to get 
home for a Sunday, but that was all his wife and son saw 
of him until in spring time. When the “ drive ” of the 
logs that represented the winter’s work was over, he re- 
turned to them to remain until the falling of the leaves 
recalled him to the forest. Frank loved and admired 
his father to the utmost of his ability, and when in his 
coolest, calmest moods he realized that there was small 
possibility of his ever sailing the Spanish main like 
Amyas Leigh, or exploring the interior of Africa like 
Livingstone, he felt quite settled in his own mind that, 
following in his father’s footsteps, he would adopt lum- 
bering as his business. ’Tis true, his father was only an 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


13 


agent or foreman, and might never be anything more; 
but even that was not to be despised, and then with a 
little extra good fortune, he might in time become an 
owner of “ limits ” and mills himself. Why not ? Many 
another boy had thus risen into wealth and importance. 
He had at least the right to try. 

■» 

Fifteen in October, and in the highest classes, this was 
to be Frank’s last winter at school ; and before leaving 
for the woods his father had enjoined upon him to make 
the best of it, as after the summer holidays were over he 
would have to “cease learning and begin earning.” 
Frank was rather glad to hear this. He was beginning 
to think he had grown too big for school and ought to 
be doing something more directly remunerative. Poor 
boy ! Could he have guessed that those were the last 
words he would hear from his dear father’s lips, how dif- 
ferently would they have affected him ! Calumet never 
saw Mr. Kingston again. In returning alone to the depot 
from a distant shanty, he was caught in a fierce and sud- 
den snow storm. The little-traveled road through the 
forest was soon obliterated. Blinded and bewildered by 
the pitiless storm beating in their faces, both man and 
beast lost their way, and, wandering about until all 
strength was spent, lay down to die in the drifts that 
quickly hid their bodies from sight. It was many days 


14 THE CHOBE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

before they were found, lying together, close wrapped in 
their winding-sheet of snow. 

Mrs. Kingston bore the dreadful trial with the forti- 
tude and submissive grace that only a serene and unmur- 
muring faith can give. Frank was more demonstrative 
in his grief, and disposed to rebel against so c^uel a 
calamity. But his mother calmed and inspired mm, and 
when the first numbing force of the blow had passed 
away, they took counsel together as to the future. This 
was dark and uncertain enough. All that was left to 
them was the little cottage in which they lived. Mr. 
Kingston’s salary had not been large, and only by 
careful management had the house been secured. Of 
kind and sympathizing friends there was no lack; but 
they were mostly people in moderate circumstances, 
like themselves, from whom nothing more than sympathy 
could be expected. 

“ I’m afraid there’ll be no more school for you now, 
Frank darling,” said his mother, passing her white hand 
fondly over his forehead as he sat beside the lounge upon 
which she was reclining. “ Will you mind having to go 
to work ? ” 

“ Mind it ! ” exclaimed Frank. “ Not a bit of it ! I’m 
old enough, ain’t I ? ” 

“I suppose you are, dear,” replied Mrs. Kingston, 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


15 


half-sadly. “ What kind of work should you like 
best?” 

“That’s not a hard question to answer mother,” 
returned Frank, promptly. “ I want to be what father 
was.” 

Mrs. Kingston’s face grew pale when she heard Frank’s 
answer, and for some time she made no reply. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE CHOICE OF AN OCCUPATION. 

HE fact was that Mrs, Kingston felt a strong repug- 



JL nance to her son’s following in his father’s footsteps, 
so far as his occupation was concerned. She dreaded 
the danger that was inseparable from it, and shrank 
from the idea of giving up the boy whose company was 
now the chief delight of her life, for all the long winter 
months that would be so dreary without him. 

Frank had some inkling of his mother’s feelings, but, 
boy like, thought of them as only the natural nervousness 
of womankind ; and, his heart being set upon going to 
the woods, he was not very open to argument. 

“ Why don’t you want me to go lumbering, mother ? ” 
he inquired in a tone that had a touch of petulance in it. 
“ I’ve got to do something for myself, and I detest store- 
keeping. It’s not in my line at all. Fellows like Tom 
demon and Jack Stoner may find it suits them, but 
I can’t bear the idea of being shut up in a store or office 
all day. I want to be out of doors. That’s the kind of 
life for me.” 

Mrs. Kingston gave a sigh that was a presage of 


16 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KJPPEWA. 


17 


defeat as she regarded her son, standing before her, his 
handsome face flushed with eagerness and his eyes flash- 
ing with determination. 

“But, Frank dear,” said she, gently, “have you 
thought how dreadfully lonely it will be for me living 
all alone here during the long winter — your father gone 
from me and you away off in the woods, where I can 
never get to you or you to me ? ” 

The flush on Frank’s face deepened and extended 
until it covered forehead and neck with its crimson glow. 
He had not taken this view of the case into consideration 
before, and his tender heart reproached him for so 
forgetting his mother while laying out his own plans. 
He sprang forward, and, kneeling down beside the 
lounge, threw his arms about his mother’s neck and 
clasped her fondly, finding it hard to keep the tears 
back, as he said : 

“ You dear, darling mother ! I have been selfish. 
I should have thought how lonely it would be for you in 
the winter time.’’ 

Mrs. Kingston returned the embrace with no less 
fervor, and as usually happens where the other side 
seems to be giving way, began to weaken somewhat 
herself and to feel a little doubtful as to whether, after 

all, it would be right to oppose her son’s wishes when 
B 


18 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP EJPPEWA. 

his inclinations toward the occupation he had chosen 
were evidently so very decided. 

“ Well, Frank dear,” she said, after a pause, while 
Frank looked at her expectantly, “I don’t want to 
be selfish, either. If it were not for the way we lost 
your father, perhaps I should not have such a dread 
of the woods for you, and no doubt even then it is fool- 
ish for me to give way to it. We won’t decide the 
matter now. If you do go to the woods, it won’t be until 
the autumn, and perhaps during the summer something 
will turn up that will please us better. We will leave 
the matter in God’s hands. He will bring it to pass in 
the way that will be best for us both, I am confident.” 

So with that understanding the matter rested, 
although of course it was continually being referred to 
as the weeeks slipped by and the summer waxed and 
waned. Although Frank felt quite convinced in his 
own mind that he was not cut out for a position behind 
a desk or counter, he determined to make the experi- 
ment, and accordingly applied to Squire Eagleson, who 
kept the principal store and was the “ big man ” of the 
village, for a place in his establishment. Summer being 
the squire’s busy season, and Frank being well known to 
him, he was glad enough to add to his small staff of 
clerks so promising a recruit, especially as, taking 


THE CHORE* BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 19 

advantage of the boy’s ignorance of business affairs, he 
was able to engage him at wages much below his actual 
worth to him. This the worthy squire regarded as quite 
a fine stroke of business, and told it to his wife with 
great gusto, rubbing his fat hands complacently together 
as he chuckled over his shrewdness. 

“Bright boy, that Frank Kingston! Writes a good 
fist, and can run up a row of figgers like smoke. Mighty 
civil, too, and sharp. And all for three dollars a week ! 
Ha, ha, ha ! Wish I could make as good a bargain as 
that every day.” And the squire looked the picture 
of virtuous content as he leaned back in his big chair to 
enjoy the situation. 

Mrs. Eagleson did not often venture to intermeddle 
in her husband’s business affairs, although frequently she 
became aware of things which she could not reconcile 
with her conscience. But this time she was moved to 
speak by an impulse she could not control. She knew 
the Kingstons, and had always thought well of them. 
Mrs. Kingston seemed to her in many respects a model 
woman, who deserved well of everybody; and that 
her husband, who was so well-to-do, should take any 
advantage of these worthy people who had so little, 
touched her to the quick. There was a bright spot on 
the center of her pale cheeks and an unaccustomed ring 


20 THE CHCRE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

in her voice as she exclaimed, with a sharpness that 
made her husband give quite a start of surprise : 

“ Do you mean to tell me, Daniel, that you’ve been 
mean enough to take advantage of that boy who has to 
support his widowed mother, and to hire him for half 
the wages he's worth just because he didn’t know any 
better? And then you come home here and boast of it. 
Have you no conscience ? ” 

The squire was so taken aback by this unexpected 
attack that at first he hardly knew how to meet it. 
Should he lecture his wife for her presumption in med- 
dling in his affairs, which were quite beyond her compre- 
hension as a woman, or should he make light of the 
matter and laugh it off? After a moment's reflection, 
he decided on the latter course. 

“Hoity, toitv! Mrs. Eagleson, but what’s set you so 
suddenly on fire ? Business is business, you know, and 
if Frank Kingston did not. know enough to ask for more 
wages it wasn’t my concern to enlighten him.” 

Mrs. Eagleson rose from her chair and came over and 
stood in front of her husband, pointing her long thin 
forefinger at him as, with a trembling yet scornful voice, 
she addressed^him thus : 

“ Daniel, how you can kneel down and ask the bless- 
ing of God upon such doings is beyond me, or how your 


THE CHORE- BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 21 

head can lie easy on your pillow when you know that you 
are taking the bread out of that poor lone widow's mouth 
it is not for me to say. But this I will say, whether you 
like it or not : if you are not ashamed of yourself I am 
for you.” And before the now much-disturbed squire 
had time to say another word in his defense, the speaker 
had swept indignantly out of his presence and hastened 
to her own room, there to throw herself down upon the bed 
and burst into a passion of tears, for she was at best but 
a weak- nerved woman. 

Left to himself, the squire shifted about uneasily in his 
chair, and then rose and stumped angrily to the window. 

“ What does she know about business ? ” he muttered. 
“ If she were to have her own way at the store she’d 
ruin me in a twelve-month.” 

Yet Mrs. Eagleson’s brave outburst was not in vain. 
Somehow or other after it the squire never felt comforta- 
ble in his mind until, much to Frank’s surprise and 
delight, he one day called him to him, and, with an air 
of great generosity and patronage, said : 

“ See here, my lad. You seem to be doing your work 
real well, so I am going to give you a dollar a week more 
just to encourage you, and then if a little extra work 
comes along” — for autumn was approaching — “ ye won’t 
mind tackling it with a good will ; eh ? ” 


22 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

Frank thanked his employer very heartily, and this 
unexpected increase of earnings and his mother’s joy 
over it for a time almost reconciled him to the work at 
the store, which .he liked less and less the longer he was 
at it. 

The fact of the matter was a place behind the counter 
was uncongenial to him in many ways. There was too 
much in-doors about it, to begin with. From early 
morning until late evening he had to be at his post, with 
brief intervals for meals, and the color was leaving his 
cheeks and his muscles were growing slack and soft, 
owing to the constant confinement. 

But this was the least of his troubles. A still more 
serious matter was that his conscience did not suffer him 
to take kindly to the “ tricks of the trade,” in which his 
employer was a “passed master ” and his fellow-clerks 
very promising pupils. He could not find it in his heart 
to depreciate the quality of Widow Perkins’s butter, or 
to cajole unwary Sam Struthers, from the backlands, into 
taking a shop-worn remnant for the new dress his wife 
had so carefully commissioned him to buy. His idea of 
trade was that you should deal with others as fairly as • 
you would have them deal with you ; and while, of 
course, according to the squire’s philosophy, you could 
never make a full purse that way, still you could at least 


THE CHOKE BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 23 

have a clear conscience, which surely was the more 
desirable, after all. 

The squire had noticed Frank’s “ pernickety nonsense,” 
as he was pleased to call it, and at first gave him several 
broad hints as to the better mode of doing business ; but, 
finding that the lad was firm, and would no doubt give 
up his place rather than learn these “ business ways,” he 
had the good sense to let him alone, finding in his quick- 
ness, fidelity, and attention to his work sufficient com- 
pensation for this deficiency in bargaining acumen. 

“ You’ll be content to stay at the store now, won’t you, 
Frank ? ” said his mother as they talked over the 
welcome and much-needed raise of salary. 

“ It does seem to make it easier to stay, mother,” 

answered Frank. “ But ” And he gave a big sigh, 

and stopped. 

“ But what, dear? ” asked Mrs. Kingston, tenderly. 

Frank was slow in answering. He evidently felt 
reluctant to bring up the matter again, and yet his mind 
was full of it. 

“ But what, Frank ? ” repeated his mother, taking his 
hands in hers and looking earnestly into his face. 

“ Well, mother, it’s no use pretending. I’m not cut 
out for keeping store, and I’ll never be much good at it. 
I don’t like being in doors all day. And then, if you 


24 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

want to get on, you’ve got to do all sorts of things that 
are nothing else but downright mean, and I don’t like 
that, either.” And then Frank went on to tell of some of 
the tricks and stratagems the squire or the other clerks 
would resort to in order to make a good bargain. 

Mrs. Kingston listened with profound attention. More 
than once of late, as she noticed her son’s growing pal- 
lor and loss of spirits, she had asked herself whether she 
were not doing wrong in seeking to turn him aside 
from the life for which he longed; and now that he 
was finding fresh and fatal objections to the occupation 
he had chosen in deference to her wishes, she began 
to relent of her insistence, and to feel more disposed to 
discuss the question again. But before doing so she 
wished to ask the advice of a friend in whom she placed 
much confidence, and so for the present she contented 
herself with applauding Frank for his conscientiousness, 
and assuring him that she would a thousand times 
rather have him always poor than grow rich after the 
same fashion as Squire Eagleson. 

The friend whose advice Mrs. Kingston wished to take 
was her husband’s successor as foreman at the depot 
for the lumber camps — a sensible, steady, reliable young 
man, who had risen to his present position by process 
of promotion from the bottom, and who was therefore 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 25 

well qualified to give her just the counsel she desired. 
At the first opportunity, therefore, she went over to Mr. 
Stewart’s cottage, and, finding him at home, opened her 
heart fully to him. Mr. Stewart, or Alec Stewart, as he 
was generally called, listened with ready sympathy to 
what Mrs. Kingston had to say, and showed much 
interest in the matter, for he had held a high opinion of 
his former chief, and knew Frank well enough to 
admire his spirit and character. 

“ Well, you see, Mrs. Kingston, it’s just this way,” 
said he, when his visitor had stated the case upon which 
she wanted his opinion : “ if Frank’s got his heart so set 
upon going into the woods, I don’t know as there’s any 
use trying to cross him. He won’t take kindly to anything 
else while he’s thinking of that, and he’d a big sight 
better be a good lumberman than a poor clerk, don’t 
you think ? ” 

Mrs. Kingston felt the force of this reasoning, yet 
could hardly make up her mind to yield to it at once. 

“But, Mr. Stewart,” she urged, “it may only be a 
boyish notion of Frank’s. He thinks, perhaps, he’d like 
it because that’s what his father was before him, and 
then he may find his mistake.” 

“Well, Mrs. Kingston,” replied Mr. Stewart, “if you 
think there’s any chance of that being the case we can 


26 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


settle the question right enough in this way: let Frank 
come to the woods with me this winter. I will give him 
a berth as chore-boy in one of the camps, and if that 
doesn’t sicken him of the business then all I can say is 
you’d better let the lad have his will. 5 * 

Mrs. Kingston sighed. 

“ I suppose you’re right. I don’t quite like the idea of 
his being chore-boy ; but if he’s really in earnest, there's 
no better way of proving him.” 

When Frank heard that his desire for a winter in the 
woods was to be gratified after all, he felt too delighted to 
find any fault with the position, humble though it was, 
as he well knew, which Mr. Stewart offered him. The 
prospect of release from the uncongenial routine of store- 
keeping filled him with happiness, and his mother 
almost felt reconciled to let him go from her, so marked 
was the change in his spirits. 


CHAPTER III. 


OFF TO THE WOODS. 

SEPTEMBER, the finest of all the months in the 
Canadian calendar, was at hand, as the sumac and 
the maple took evident delight in telling by their lovely 
tints of red and gold, and the hot enervating breath of 
summer had yielded to the inspiring coolness of early 
autumn. The village of Calumet fairly bubbled over 
with business and bustle. Preparations for the winter’s 
work were being made on all sides. During the course 
of the next two weeks or so a large number of men would 
be leaving their homes for the lumber camps, and the 
chief subject of conversation in all circles was the fasci- 
nating and romantic occupation in which they were 
engaged. 

Ho one was more busy than Mrs. Kingston. Even if 
her son was to be only a chore-boy, his equipment should 
be as comfortable and complete as though he were going 
to be a foreman. She knew very well that Jack Frost 
has no compunctions about sending the thermometer 

away down, thirty or forty degrees below zero, in those 

27 


28 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

far-away forest depths, and whatever other hardships 
Frank might be called upon to endure, it was very well 
settled in her mind that he should not suffer for lack of 
warm clothing. Accordingly, the knitting-needles and 
sewing-needles had been plied industriously from the day 
his going into the woods was decided upon, and now that 
the time for departure drew near, the result was to be 
seen in a chest filled with such thick warm stockings, 
shirts, mittens, and comforters, besides a good outfit of 
other clothing, that Frank, looking them over with a 
keen appreciation of their merits and of the loving skill 
they evidenced, turned to his mother, saying, with a 
grateful smile. 

“ Why, mother, you’ve fitted me out as though I were 
going to the North Pole.” 

“ You’ll need them all, my dear, before the winter’s 
over,” said Mrs. Kingston, the tears rising in her eyes, 
as involuntarily she thought of how the cruel cold had 
taken from her the father of the bright, hopeful boy 
before her. “ Your father never thought I provided too 
many warm things for him.” 

Frank was in great spirits. He had resigned bis clerk- 
ship at Squire Eagleson’s, much to that worthy merchant s 
regret. The squire looked upon him as a very foolish 
fellow to give up a position in his store, where he had 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 29 


such good opportunities of learning business ways, in 
order to go “ galivanting off to the woods,” where his 
good writing and correct figuring would be of no 
account. 

Frank said nothing about his decided objections to the 
squire’s ideas of business ways and methods, but contented 
himself with stating respectfully his strong preference for 
out-door life, and his intention to make lumbering his 
occupation, as it had been his father’s before him. 

“Well, well, my lad,” said the squire, when he saw 
there was no moving him, “ have your own way. I reckon 
you’ll be glad enough to come back to me in the spring. 
One winter in the camps will be all you’ll want.” 

Frank left the squire, saying to himself as he went out 
from the store : 

“ If I do get sick of the camp and want a situation in 
the spring, this is not the place I’ll come to for it ; you 
can depend upon that, Squire Eagleson ; many thanks to 
you, all the same.” 

Mr. Stewart was going up to the depot, the first week 
in September, to get matters in readiness for the men who 
would follow him a week later, and much to Frank’s satis- 
faction he announced that he would take him along if he 
could be ready in time. Thanks to Mrs. Kingston’s being 
of the fore-handed kind, nothing was lacking in her son’s 


30 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

preparations, and the day of departure was anticipated 
with great eagerness by him, and with much sinking of 
heart by her. 

The evening previous mother and son had a long talk 
together, in the course of which she impressed upon him 
the absolute importance of his making no disguise of 
his religious principles. 

“ You’ll be the youngest in the camp, perhaps, Frank 
darling, and it will, no doubt, be very hard for you to 
read your Bible and say your prayers, as you’ve always 
done here at home. But the braver you are about it at 
first, the easier it’ll be in the end. Take your stand at 
the -very start. Let the shanty men see that you’re not 
afraid to confess yourself a Christian, and rough and 
wicked as they may be, never fear but they’ll respect you 
for it.” 

Mrs. Kingston spoke with an earnestness and emphasis 
that went straight to Frank’s heart. He had perfect faith 
in his mother. In his eyes she was without fault or 
failing, and he knew very well that she was asking noth- 
ing of him that she was not altogether ready to do 
herself, were she to be put in his place. Not only so. 
His own shrewd sense confirmed the wisdom of her words. 
There could be no half-way position for him at the lumber 
camp ; no half-hearted serving of God would be of any 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 31 

use there. He must take Caleb for his pattern, and 
follow the Lord wholly. His voice was low, but full of 
quiet determination, as he answered : 

“ I know it, mother. It won’t be easy, but I’m not 
afraid. I’ll begin fair and let the others know just where 
I stand, and they may say or do what they like.” 

Mrs. Kingston needed no further assurance to make 
her mind quite easy upon this point, and she took no 
small comfort from the thought that, faithful and consist- 
ent as she felt so confident Frank would be, despite the 
many trials and temptations inseparable from his new 
sphere of life, he could hardly fail to exercise some good 
influence upon those about him, and perhaps prove a. very 
decided power for good among the rough men of the 
lumber camp. 

The day of departure dawned clear and bright ; the 
air was cool and bracing, the ground glistened with the 
heavy autumn dew that the sun had not yet had time to 
drink up, and the village was not fairly astir for the day 
when Mr. Stewart drove up to Mrs. Kingston’s door for 
his young passenger. He was not kept long waiting, for 
Frank had been ready fully half an hour beforehand, and 
all that remained to be done was to bid his mother 
“ good-bye,” until he should return with the spring floods. 
Overflowing with joy as he was at the realization of his 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


desire, yet he was too fond a son not to feel keenly the 
parting with his mother, and he bustled about very 
vigorously, stowing away his things in the back of the 
wagon, as the best way of keeping himself under control. 

He had a good deal of luggage for a boy. First of all, 
there was his chest packed tight with warm clothing, 
then another box heavy with cake, preserves, pickles, 
and other home-made dainties, wherewith to vary the 
monotony of shanty fare ; then a big bundle containing a 
wool mattress, a pillow, two pairs of heavy blankets, and 
a thick comforter, to insure his sleep being undisturbed 
by saucy Jack Frost ; and finally, a narrow box made by 
his own father to carry the light rifle that always accom- 
panied him, together with a plentiful supply of ammuni- 
tion. In this box Frank was particularly interested, for 
he had learned to handle this rifle pretty well during the 
summer, and looked forward to accomplishing great 
things with it when he got into the woods. 

Mr. Stewart laughed when he saw all that Frank was 
taking with him. 

“ I guess you’ll be the swell of the camp, and make all 
the other fellows wish they had a mother to fit them out. 
It’s a fortunate thing my wagon’s roomy, or we’d have to 
leave some of your stuff to come up by one of the teams,” 
said he. 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 33 

Mrs. Kingston was about to make apologies for the size 
of Frank's outfit, but Mr. Stewart stopped her. 

“ It’s all right, Mrs. Kingston. The lad might just as 
well be comfortable as not. He’ll have plenty of rough- 
ing it, anyway. And now we've got it all on board, we 
must be starting.” 

The moment Mrs. Kingston dreaded had now come. 
Throwing her arms around Frank’s neck, she clasped him 
passionately to her heart, again and again, and then, 
tearing herself away from him, rushed up the steps, as if 
she dared not trust herself any longer. Gulping down 
the big lump that rose into his throat, Frank sprang up 
beside Mr. Stewart, and the next moment they were off. 
But before they turned the corner, Frank, looking back, 
caught sight of his mother standing in the doorway, and 
taking off his cap, he gave her a farewell salute, calling 
out rather huskily his last “ good-bye,” as the swiftly- 
moving wagon bore him away. 

Mr. Stewart took much pride in his turnout, and with 
good reason ; for there was not a finer pair of horses in 
Calumet than those that were now trotting along before 
him, as if the well-filled wagon to which they were attached 
was no impediment whatever. His work required him to 
be much upon the road in all seasons, and he considered 

it well worth his while to make the business of driving 

c 


34 TIIE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


about as pleasant as possible. The horses were iron-greys, 
beautifully matched in size, shape, and speed ; the harness 
sparkled with bright brass mountings, and the wagon, a 
kind of express, with specially strong springs and comfort- 
able seat, had abundant room for passengers and luggage. 

As they rattled along the village street there were 
many shouts of “ Good-bye, Frank,” and “ Good luck to 
you,” from shop and sidewalk; for everybody knew 
Frank’s destination, and there were none that did not 
wish him well, whatever might be their opinion of the 
wisdom of his action. In responding to these expressions 
of good-will, Frank found timely relief for the feelings 
stirred by the parting with his mother, and before the 
impatient greys had breasted the hill, which began where 
the village ended, he had quite regained his customary 
good spirits and was ready to reply brightly enough to 
Mr. Stewart’s remarks. 

“ Well, Frank, you’ve put your hand to the plow now, 
as the Scripture says, and you mustn’t turn back on any 
account, or all the village will be laughing at you,” he 
said, scanning his companion closely. 

“ Not much fear of that, Mr. Stewart,” answered Frank, 
firmly. “ Calumet won’t see me again until next spring. 
Whether I like the lumbering or not, I’m going to stick 
out the winter, anyway ; you see if I don’t.” 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 35 

" I haven’t much fear of you, my boy,” returned Mr. 
Stewart, “even if you do find shanty life a good deal 
rougher than you may have imagined. You’ll have to 
fight your own way, you know. I shan’t be around 
much, and the other men will all be strangers at first, but 
just you do what you know and feel to be right, without 
minding the others, and they won’t bother you long, but 
will respect you for having a conscience and the pluck to 
obey it. As for your work, it’ll seem pretty heavy and 
hard at the start, but you’ve got lots of grit, and it won’t 
take you long to get used to it.” 

Frank listened attentively to Mr. Stewart’s kindly, 
sensible advice, and had many questions to ask him as 
the speedy horses bore them farther and farther away 
from Calumet. The farms, which at first, had followed 
one another in close succession grew more widely apart, 
and finally ended altogether before many miles of the 
dusty road had been covered, and thenceforward their 
way ran through unbroken woods, not the stately “forest 
primeval ” but the scrubby “ second growth,” from which 
those who have never been into the heart of the leafy 
wilderness can form but a poor conception of the grandeur 
to which trees can attain. 

About midday they halted at a lonely log house which 
served as a sort of inn, or resting place, the proprietor 


36 THE CHORE-BO'Y OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

finding compensation for the dreariness of his situation 
in the large profit derived from an illegal, but thriving 
traffic in liquor. A more unkempt, unattractive establish- 
ment could hardly be imagined, and if rumor was to be 
relied upon, it had good reason to be haunted by more 
than one untimely ghost. 

“A wretched den ! ” said Mr. Stewart, as he drew up 
before the door. “ I wouldn’t think of stopping here for 
a moment but for the horses. But we may as well go in 
and see if old Pierre can get us a decent bite to eat.” 

The horses having been attended to, they entered the 
house, where they found Pierre, the proprietor, dozing on 
his bar, a bloated, blear-eyed creature, who evidently 
would have much preferred making them drunk with his 
vile whiskey to preparing them any pretense for a dinner. 
But they firmly declined his liquor, so muttering unintel- 
ligibly to himself, he shambled off to obey their behests. 
After some delay they succeeded in getting a miserable 
meal of some kind, and then, the horses being sufficiently 
rested, they set off once more at a good pace, not halting 
again until, just before sundown, they arrived at the 
depot, where the first stage of their journey ended. 

This depot was simply a large farm set in the midst of 
a wilderness of trees, and forming a center from which 
some half dozen shanties, or lumber camps, placed at 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


37 


different distances in the depths of the forest that stretched 
away interminably north, south, east, and west, were 
supplied with all that was necessary for their mainte- 
nance. Besides the ordinary farm buildings, there was 
another which served as a sort of a shop, or warehouse, 
being filled with a stock of axes, saws, blankets, boots, 
beef, pork, tea, sugar, molasses, flour, and so forth, for the 
use of the lumbermen. This was Mr. Stewart’s head- 
quarters, and as the tired horses drew up before the door 
he tossed the reins over their backs, saying : 

“ Here we are, Frank. You’ll stay here until your 
gang is made up. To-morrow morning I’ll introduce you 
to some of your mates.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE BUILDING OF THE SHANTY. 

F RANK looked about him with quick curiosity, ex- 
pecting to see some of the men in whose society he 
was to spend the winter. But there were only the farm- 
hands lounging listlessly about, their day’s work being 
over, and they had nothing to do except to smoke their 
pipes and wait for nightfall, when they would lounge off 
to bed. 

The shantymen had not yet arrived, Mr. Stewart 
always making a point of being at the depot some days 
in advance of them, in order to have plenty of time to 
prepare his plans for the winter campaign. Noting 
Frank’s inquiring look, he laughed, and said: 

•'* Oh, there are none of them here yet. We’re the first 
on the field, but by the end of the week there’ll be more 
than a hundred men here.” 

A day or two later the first batch made their appear- 
ance, coming up by the heavy teams that they would 
take with them into the woods, and each day brought a 
fresh contingent, until by the time Mr. Stewart had men- 
tioned the farm fairly swarmed with them, and it became 
38 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 39 

necessary for this human hive to imitate the bees and 
send off its superfluous inhabitants without delay. 

They were a rough, noisy, strange-looking lot of men, 
and Frank, whose acquaintance with the shantymen had 
been limited to seeing them in small groups as they passed 
through. Calumet in the autumn and spring, on their way 
to. and from the camps, meeting them now for the first 
time in such large numbers could not help some inward- 
shrinking of soul, as he noted their uncouth ways and 
listened to their oath-besprinkled talk. They were “ alT 
sorts and conditions of men ” — habitants who could not 
speak a word of English, and Irishmen who could not 
speak a word of French ; shrewd Scotchmen, chary of 
tongue and reserved of manner, and loquacious half- 
breeds ready for song, or story, or fight, according to the 
humor tff the moment. Here and there were dusky skins 
and prominent features that betrayed a close connection 
with the aboriginal owners of this continent. Almost all 
had come from the big saw-mills away down the river, or 
from some other equally arduous employment, and were 
glad of the chance of a few days’ respite from work while 
Mr. Stewart was dividing them up and making the neces- 
sary arrangements for the winter’s work. 

Frank mingled freely with them, scraping acquaint- 
ance with those who seemed disposed to be friendly, and 


40 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

whenever he came across one with an honest, pleasant, 
prepossessing face, hoping very much that he would be a 
member of his gang. He was much impressed by the 
fact that he was evidently the youngest member of the 
gathering, and did not fail to notice the sometimes 
curious, sometimes contemptuous looks with which he was 
regarded by the fresh arrivals. 

In the course of a few days matters were pretty well 
straightened out at the depot, and the gangs of men be- 
gan to leave for the different camps. Mr. Stewart had 
promised Frank that he would take care to put him 
under a foreman who would treat him well, and when one 
evening he was called into the office and introduced to a 
tall, powerful, grave-looking man, with heavy brown 
beard and deep voice, Mr. Stewart said : 

“ Here is Frank Kingston, Dan ; Jack’s only son, vou 
know. He’s set his heart on lumbering, and I’m going 
to let him try it for a winter.” 

Frank scrutinized the man called Dan very closely as 
Mr. Stewart continued : 

“ I’m going to send him up to the Kippewa camp with 
you, Dan. There’s nobody ’ll look after him better than 
you will, for I know you thought a big sight of his father, 
and for his sake, as well as mine, you’ll see that nothing 
happens to the lad.” 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 41 

Dan Johnston’s face relaxed into a smile that showed 
there were rich depths of good nature beneath his rather 
stern exterior, for he was pleased at the compliment im- 
plied in the superintendent’s words, and, stretching out a 
mighty hand to Frank, he laid it on his shoulder in a 
kindly way, saying : 

“ He seems a likely lad, Mr. Stewart, and a chip off the 
old block, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll be right glad to have 
him with me. But what kind of work is he to go at. He 
seems rather light for chopping, doesn’t he ? ” 

Mr. Stewart gave a quizzical sort of glance at Frank, 
as he replied : 

“ Well, you see, Dan, I think, myself, he is too light 
for chopping, so I told him he’d have to be chore-boy for 
this winter, anyway.” 

A look of surprise came over J ohnston’s face, and more 
to himself than the others he muttered, in a low tone : 

“ Chore-boy, eh ? Jack Kingston’s son a chore-boy ! ” 
Then, turning to Frank, he said aloud : “All right, my 
boy. There’s nothing like beginning at the bottom if you 
want to learn the whole business. You must make up 
your mind to put in a pretty hard time; but I’ll see you 
have fair play, anyway.” 

As Frank looked at the rugged, honest, determined 
face, and the stalwart frame, he felt thoroughly satisfied 


42 THE CHOKE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

that in Dan Johnston he had a friend in whom he could 
place perfect confidence, and that Mr. Stewart’s promise 
had been fully kept. The foreman then became quite 
sociable, and asked him many questions about his mother, 
and his life in Calumet, and his plans for the future, so 
that before they parted for the night Frank felt as if 
they were quite old friends instead of recent acquaint- 
ances. 

The following morning Johnston was bestirring him- 
self bright and early getting his men and stores together, 
and before noon a start was made for the Kippewa River, 
on whose southern bank a site had already been selected 
for the lumber camp which would be the center of his 
operations for the winter. Johnston’s gang numbered 
forty' men all told, himself included, and they were in 
high spirits as they set out for their destination. The 
stores and tools were, of course, transported by wagon, 
but the men had to go on foot, and, with fifteen miles of a 
rough forest road to cover before sundoNvn, they struck a 
brisk pace as, in two and threes and quartettes, they 
marched noisily along the dusty road. 

“ You stay by me, Frank,” said the foreman, “ and if 
your young legs happen to go back on you, you can have 
a lift on one of the teams until you’re rested.” 

Frank felt in such fine trim that, although he fully ap- 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 43 

predated his big friend’s thoughtfulness, he was rash 
enough to think he would not require to avail himself of 
it ; but the next five miles showed him his mistake, and 
at the end of them he was very glad to jump upon one of 
the teams that happened to be passing, and in this way 
hastened over a good part of the remainder of the tramp. 

As the odd-looking gang pushed forward steadily, if 
not in exactly martial order, Frank had a good oppor- 
tunity of inspecting its members and making in his own 
mind an estimate of their probable good or bad qualities 
as companions. In this he was much assisted by the 
foreman, who, in reply to his questions, gave him helpful 
bits of information about the different ones that attracted 
his attention. Fully one-half of the gang were French 
Canadians, dark-complexioned, black-haired, bright-eyed 
men, full of life and talk, their tongues going unceasingly 
as they plodded along in sociable groups. Of the re- 
mainder some were Scotch, others Irish, the rest English. 
Upon the whole, they were quite a promising-looking lot 
of men ; indeed, Johnston took very good care to have as 
little “poor stuff ” as possible in his gang; for he had 
long held the reputation of turning out more logs at his 
camp than were cut at any other on the same “ limits 
and this well-deserved fame he cherished very dearly. 

Darkness was coming on apace when at last a glad 


44 THE CHOKE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

shout from the foremost group announced that the end 
of the journey was near, and in a few minutes more the 
whole band of tired men were resting their wearied limbs 
on the bank of the river near which the shanty was to be 
erected at once. The teams had arrived some time be- 
fore them, and two large tents had been put up as tem- 
porary shelter, while brightly-burning fires and the appe- 
tizing sizzle of frying bacon joined with the wholesome 
aroma of hot tea to make glad the hearts of the dusty, 
hungry pedestrians. 

Frank enjoyed his open-air tea immensely. It was his 
first taste of real lumberman’s life, and was undoubtedly 
a pleasant introduction to it ; for the hard work would 
not begin until the morrow, and in the meantime every- 
body was still a-holidaying. So refreshing was the even- 
ing meal that, tired as all no doubt felt from their long 
tramp, they soon forgot it sufficiently to spend an hour 
or more in song and chorus that made the vast forest 
aisles re-echo with rough melody before they sank into 
the silence of slumber for the night. 

At daybreak next morning Dan Johnston’s stentorian 
voice aroused the sleepers, and Frank could hardly be- 
lieve that he had taken more than twice forty winks at 
the most before the stirring shout of “ Turn out ! Turn 
out ! The work’s waiting ! ” broke into his dreams and 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 45 


recalled him to life’s realities. The morning was gray 
and chilly, the men looked sleepy and out of humor, and 
Johnston himself had a stern, distant manner, or seemed 
to have, as after a wash at the river bank Frank ap- 
proached him and reported himself for duty. 

“ Will you please to tell me what is to be my work, 
Mr. Johnston?” said he, in quite a timid tone; for 
somehow or other there seemed to be a change in the 
atmosphere. 

The foreman’s face relaxed a little as he turned to 
answer him. 

“ You want to be set to work, eh ? Well, that won’t 
take long.” And, looking around among the moving 
men until he found the one he wanted, he raised his voice 
and called : 

“ Hi, there, Baptiste ! Come here a moment.” 

In response to the summons a short, stout, smooth- 
faced, and decidedly good-natured looking Frenchman, 
who had been busy at one of the fires, came over to the 
foreman. 

“ See here, Baptiste ; this lad’s to be your chore-boy 
this winter, and I don’t want you to be too hard on him 
— savez f Let him have plenty of work, but not more 
than his share.” 

Baptiste examined Frank’s sturdy figure with much 


46 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

the same smile of approval that he might bestow upon a 
fine capon that he was preparing for the pot, and mur- 
mured out something like : 

“ Bien, m’sieur. I sail be easy wid him if ee’s a good 
boy." 

The foreman then said to Frank : 

“ There, Frank ; go with Baptiste, and he’ll give you 
work enough." 

So Frank went dutifully off with the Frenchman. 

He soon found out what his work was to be. Baptiste 
was cook, and he was his assistant, not so much in the 
actual cooking, for Baptiste looked after that himself, 
but in the scouring of the pots and pans, the keeping up 
of the fires, the setting out of the food, and such other 
supplementary duties. Not very dignified or inspiring 
employment, certainly, especially for a boy “ with a turn 
for books and figures." But Frank had come to the camp 
prepared to undertake, without a murmur, any work 
within his powers that might be given him, and he now 
went quietly and steadily at what was required of 
him. 

As soon as breakfast was dispatched, Johnston called 
the men together to give them directions about the 
building of the shanty, which was the first thing of all 
to be done, and having divided them up into parties, to 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEYVA. 


47 


each of which a different task was assigned, he set them 
at work without delay. 

Frank was very glad that attention to his duties would 
not prevent his watching the others at theirs ; for what 
could be more interesting than to study every stage of the 
erection of the building that was to be their shelter and 
home during the long winter months now rapidly ap- 
proaching? It was a first experience for him, and 
nothing escaped his vigilant eye. This is the way he 
described the building of the shanty to his mother on his 
return to Calumet : 

“ You see, mother, everybody except Baptiste and my- 
self took a hand, and just worked like beavers. I wish you 
could have seen the men. And Mr. Johnston — why, he 
was in two places at once most of the time, or at least 
seemed to be ! It was grand fun watching them. The 
first thing they did was to cut down a lot of trees: 
splendid big fellows, that would make the trees round 
here look pretty small, I can tell you. Then they 
chopped off all the branches and cut up the trunks 
into the lengths that suited, and laid them one on 
top of the other until they made a wall about as high as 
Mr. Johnston, or perhaps higher, in the shape of one big 
room forty feet long by thirty feet wide, Mr. Johnston 
said. It looked very funny then, just like a huge pig- 


48 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

pen, with no windows and only one door — on the side 
that faced the river. Next day they laid long timbers 
across the top of the wall, resting them in the middle on 
four great posts they called ‘scoop-bearers.’ Funny 
name, isn’t it ? But they called them that because 
they bear the ‘scoops’ that make the roof; and a 
grand roof it is, I tell you. The scoops are small 
logs hollowed out on one side and flat on the other, and 
they lay them on the cross timbers in such a way that the 
edges of one fit into the hollows of two others, so that the 
rain hasn’t a chance to get in, no matter how hard it 
tries. Next thing they make the floor ; and that wasn’t 
a hard job, for they just made logs flat on two sides and 
laid them on the ground, so that it was a pretty rough 
sort of a floor. All the cracks were stuffed tight with 
moss and mud, and a big bank of earth thrown up around 
the bottom of the wall to keep the draught out. 

“ But you. should have seen the beds — or bunks, as 
they call them, for the men. I don’t believe you could 
ever sleep on them. They were nothing but board plat- 
forms all around three sides of the room, built on a slant 
so that your head was higher than your feet ; so you see 
I’d have had nothing better than the soft side of a plank 
for a mattress if you hadn’t fitted me out with one. And 
when the other fellows saw how snug I was they vowed 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 49 

they'd have a soft bed too; so what do you think they 
did ? They gathered an immense quantity of hemlock 
branches — little soft ones, you know — and spread them 
thick over the boards, and then they laid blankets over 
that and made a really fine mattress for all. So that, 
you see, I quite set the fashion. The last thing to be 
made was the fireplace, which has the very queer name 
of ‘ camboose,’ and is queerer than its name. It is right 
in the middle of the room, not at one end, and is as 
big as a small room by itself. First of all, a great bank 
of stones and sand is laid on the floor, kept together by 
boards at the edges. Then a large square hole is cut in 
the roof above, and a wooden chimney built on the top 
of it, and then at two of the corners cranes to hold the 
pots are fixed, and the camboose is complete. And oh, 
mother, such roaring big fires as were always going in it 
after the cold came — all night long, you know; and 
sometimes I had to stay awake to keep the fire from going 
out, which wasn’t much fun ; but, of course, I had to take 
my turn. So now, mother, you ought to have a pretty 
good idea of what our shanty was like, for besides a 
table and our chests there was nothing much else in 
it to describe.” 

Such were Frank Kingston’s surroundings as he 

entered upon the humble and laborious duties of 

D 


50 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

chore-boy in Camp Kippewa, not attempting to conceal 
from himself that he would much rather be a chopper, 
or teamster, or road maker, but with his mind fully 
fixed upon doing his work, however uncongenial it 
might be, cheerfully and faithfully for one winter 
at least, feeling confident that if he did he would not 
be chore-boy for long, but would in due time be pro- 
moted to some more dignified and attractive position. 


CHAPTER V. 


STANDING FIRE. 

T HE shanty finished, a hugh mass of wood cut into 
convenient lengths and piled near the door, a 
smooth road made down to the river bank, the store- 
house filled with barrels of pork and flour and 
beans and chests of tea, the stable for the score of horses, 
put up after much the same architectural design as 
the shanty, and then the lumber camp was complete, and 
the men -were free to address themselves to the business 
that had brought them so far. 

As Frank looked around him at the magnificent for- 
ests into whose heart they had penetrated, and tried with 
his eyes to measure the height of the splendid trees that 
towered above his head on every side, he found himself 
touched with a feeling of sympathy for them— as if it 
seemed a shame to humble the pride of those sylvan 
monarchs by bringing them crashing to the earth. And 
then this feeling gave way to another, and as he watched 
the expert choppers swinging their bright axes in steady 
rhythm, and adding wound to wound in the gaping trunk 

so skillfully that the defenseless monster fell just where 

51 


52 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


they wished, his heart thrilled with pride at man’s easy 
victory over nature, and he longed to seize an ax him- 
self and attack the forest on his own account. 

He had plenty of ax work as it was, but of a much 
more prosaic kind. An important part of his duty 
consisted in keeping up the great fire that roared and 
crackled unceasingly in the caboose. The appetite 
of this fire seemed unappeasable, and many a time did 
his arms and legs grow weary in ministering to its wants. 
Sometimes, when all his other work was done, he would 
go out to the wood pile, and, selecting the thickest and 
tough est-looking logs, arrange them upon the hearth so 
that they might take as long as possible to burn, and 
then, congratulating himself that he had secured some 
respite from toil, get out his rifle for a little practice at a 
mark, or would open one of the few books he had 
brought with him. But it seemed to him he would 
hardly have more than one shot at the mark, or get 
through half a dozen pages, before Baptiste’s thick 
voice would be heard calling out : 

“Francois, Francois! Ver is yer ? Some more 
wood, k’vick ! ” And with a groan poor Frank would 
have to put away the rifle or book and return to the 
wood pile. 

“ I suppose I’m what the Bible calls a hewer of wood 


% THE CHOKE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 53 

and a drawer of water,” he would say to himself, for 
hardly less onerous than the task of keeping the fire in 
fuel was that of keeping well filled the two water bar- 
rels that stood on either side of the door, one for the 
thirsty shantymen, the other for Baptiste’s culinary 
needs. 

The season’s work once well started, it went forward 
with commendable steadiness and vigor under Foreman 
Johnston’s strict and energetic management. He was 
admirably suited for his difficult position. His grave, 
reserved manner rendered impossible that familiarity 
which is so apt to breed contempt, while his thorough 
mastery of all the secrets of woodcraft, his great physical 
strength, and his absolute fearlessness in the face of any 
peril, combined to make him a fit master for the strange- 
ly-assorted half-hundred of men now under his sole 
control. Frank held him in profound respect, and 
would have endured almost anything rather than seem 
unmanly or unheedful in his eyes. To win a word of 
commendation from those firm-set lips that said so little 
was the desire of his heart, and, feeling sure that it would 
come time enough, he stuck to his work bravely, quite 
winning good-natured Baptiste’s heart by his prompt 
obedience to orders. 

“ You are a bon garcon, Francois,” he would say, patting 


54 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. + 

his shoulder with his plump palm. “ Too good to be 
chore-boy; but not for long: eh, Francois? You be 
chopper bientot, and then — ” with an expressive wave of 
his hand to indicate the rapid flight of time — “ you’ll be 
foreman, like M’sieur Johnston, while Baptiste,” — and 
the broad shoulders would rise in that meaning shrug 
wdiich only Frenchman can achieve, — “poor Baptiste 
will be cook still.” 

Beginning with Johnston and Baptiste, Frank was 
rapidly making friends among his companions, and as he 
was soon to learn, much to his surprise and sorrow, some 
enemies too, or, rather, to be more correct, he was mak- 
ing the friends, but the enemies were making themselves ; 
for he was to blame in small part, if at all for their 
rising against him. There were all sorts and conditions 
of men, so far at least as character and disposition went, 
among the gang, and the evil element was fitly repre- 
sented by a small group of inhabitants who recognized 
one Damase Deschenaux as their leader. This Damase 
made rather a striking figure. Although he scorned the 
suggestion as hotly as would a Southern planter the 
charge that negro blood darkened his veins, there was no 
doubt that some generations back the dusky wife of a 
courier au bois had mingled the Indian nature with the 
French. Unhappily for Damase, the result of his ances- 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 55 

tral error was manifest in him ; for, while bearing but 
little outward resemblance to bis savage progenitor, be 
was at heart a veritable Indian. 

Greedy, selfish, jealous, treacherous, quick to take 
offense and slow to forgive or forget, his presence in the 
Johnston gang was explained by his wonderful knowledge 
of the forest, his sure judgment in selecting good 
bunches of timber to be cut, and his intimate acquaint- 
ance with the course of the stream down which the logs 
would be floated in the spring. 

Johnston had no liking forDamase, but found him too 
valuable to dispense with. This year, by chance, or 
possibly by his own management, Damase had among 
the gang a number of companions much after his own 
pattern, and it was clearly his intention to take the lead 
in the shanty sq far as he dared venture. When first he 
saw Frank, and learned that he was to be with Johnston 
also, he tried after his own fashion to make friends with 
him. But as might be expected, neither the man him- 
self nor his overtures of friendship impressed Frank 
favorably. He wanted neither a pull from his pocket 
flask nor a chew from his plug of “ Navy,” nor to handle 
his greasy cards; and, although he declined the offer of 
all these uncongenial things as politely as possible, the 
veritable suspicious, sensitive, French-Indian nature took 


56 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

offense, which deepened day after day, as he could not 
help seeing that Frank was careful to give himself and 
companions as wide a berth as he could without being 
pointedly rude or offensive. 

When one is seeking to gratify evil feelings toward 
another with whom he has daily contact, the opportunity 
is apt to be not long in coming, and Damase conceived 
that he had his chance of venting his spite on Frank by 
seizing upon this habit of Bible reading and prayer 
which the lad had as scrupulously observed in the shanty 
as if he had been at home. As might be imagined, he was 
altogether alone in this good custom, and at first the 
very novelty of it had secured him immunity from 
pointed notice or comment. But when Damase, think- 
ing he saw in his daily devotion an opening for his 
malicious purposes, drew attention to th # em by jeering 
remarks and taunting insinuations, the others, yielding to 
that natural tendency to be incensed with any one who 
seems to assert superior goodness, were inclined to side 
with him, or at all events to make no attempt to 
interfere. 

At first Damase confined himself to making as much 
noise as possible while Frank was reading his Bible or 
saying his prayers, keeping up a constant fire of remarks 
that were aimed directly at the much-tried boy, and 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 57 

which were sometimes clever or impertinent enough to 
call forth a hearty laugh from his comrades. But, find- 
ing that Frank was not to be overcome by this, he 
resorted to more active measures. Pretending to be 
dancing carelessly about the room he would, as if by 
accident, bump up against the object of his enmity, send- 
the precious book flying on the floor, or, if Frank was 
kneeling by his bunk, tripping and tumbling roughly 
over his outstretched feet. Another time he knocked 
the Bible out of his hands with a well-aimed missile, and, 
again, covered him with a heavy blanket as he knelt at 
prayer. 

All this Frank bore in patient silence, hoping in that 
way to secure peace in time. But Damase’s persecu- 
tions showing no signs of ceasing, the poor lad’s self- 
control began to desert him, and at last the crisis came 
one night when, while he was kneeling as usual at the 
foot of his bunk, Damase crept up softly behind him, 
and, springing upon his shoulders, brought him sprawl- 
ing to the floor. In an instant Frank was on his feet, 
and when the others saw his flashing and indignant 
countenance and noticed his tight-clinched fists, the roar 
of laughter that greeted his downfall was checked half 
way, and a sudden silence fell upon them. They all 
expected him to fly at his tormentor like a young tiger, 


58 


THE CHOKE BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


and Damase evidently expected it too, for he stepped 
back a little, and his grinning face sobered as he assumed 
a defensive attitude. 

But Frank had no thought of striking. That was not 
his way of defending his religion, much as he was willing 
to endure rather than be unfaithful. Drawing himself 
to his full height, and looking a splendid type of right- 
eous indignation, he commanded the attention of all 
as in clear, strong tones, holding his sturdy fists close to 
his sides as though he dared not trust them elsewhere, 
and, looking straight into Damase’s eyes, he exclaimed : 

“ Aren’t you ashamed to do such an unmanly thing ? 
You, who are twice my size and age ! I have done noth- 
ing to you. Why should you torment me ? And just 
when I want most to be quite too ! ” 

Then, turning to the other men with a gesture of 
appeal that was irresistible, he cried : 

“Do you think it’s fair, fellows, for that man to 
plague me so when I’ve done him no harm? Why don’t 
you stop him? You can do it easy enough. He’s noth- 
ing but a big coward.” 

Frank’s anger had risen as he spoke, and this last sen- 
tence slipped out before he had time to stop it. No 
sooner was it uttered than he regretted it ; but the 
bolt had been shot and it went straight to its mark. 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 59 


While Frank had been speaking, Damase was too keen of 
sight and sense not to notice that the manly speech and 
fine self-control of the boy were causing a quick revul- 
sion of feeling in his hearers, and that unless diverted 
they would soon be altogether on his side, and the taunt 
he had just flung out awoke a deep murmur of applause 
which was all that was needed to inflame his passion 
to the highest pitch. The Frenchman looked the very 
incarnation of fury as, springing toward Frank with up- 
lifted fist, he hissed, rather cried, through his gleaming 
teeth : 

“ Coward ! I teach you call me coward.” 

Stepping back a little, Frank threw up his arms in 
a posture of defense; for he was not without knowledge 
of what is so oddly termed “ the noble art.” But before 
the blow fell an unlooked-for intervention relieved him 
from the danger that threatened. 

The foreman, when the shanty was being built, had the 
farther right-hand corner partitioned off so as to form 
a sort of cabin just big enough to contain his bunk, his 
chest, and a small rude table on which lay the books 
in which he kept his accounts and made memoranda, and 
some half-dozen volumes that constituted his library. 
In this nook, shut off from the observation of society 
of the others, yet able to overhear and, if he chose to 


60 THE CHOEE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

open the door, to oversee also all that went on in the 
larger room, Johnston spent his evenings poring over 
his books by the light of a tallow candle, the only other 
light in the room being that given forth by the ever- 
blazing fire. 

Owing to this separation from the others, Johnston 
had been unaware of the manner in which Frank had 
been tormented, as it was borne so uncomplainingly. 
But this time Frank’s indignant speech, followed so fast 
by Damase’s angry retort, told him plainly that there 
was need of his interference. He emerged from his cor- 
ner just at the moment when Damase was ready to strike. 
One glance at the state of affairs was enough. Damase’s 
back was turned toward him. With a swift spring, that 
startled the others as if he had fallen through the roof, 
he darted forward, and ere the French-Canadian’s fist 
could reach its mark a resistless grasp was laid upon his 
collar, and, swung clear off his feet, he was flung stagger- 
ing across the room as though he had been a mere child. 

“ You Indian dog ! ” growled Johnston, in his fiercest 
tones. “ What are you about ? Don’t let me catch you 
tormenting that boy again ? ” 


CHAPTER VI. 


LIFE IN THE LUMBER CAMP. 



I OR a moment there was absolute silence in the shanty, 


J- the sudden and effectual intervention of the big 
foreman in Frank Kingston’s behalf filling the lookers- 
on with astonishment. But then, as they recovered 
themselves, there came a burst of laughter that made 
the rafters ring, in the midst of which Damase, gather- 
ing himself together, slunk scowling to his berth with a 
face that was dark with hate. 

Not deigning to take any further notice of him, John- 
ston turned to go back to his corner, touching Frank on 
his shoulder as he did so. and saying to him. in a low 
tone : 

“ Come with me, my lad ; I want a word with you.” 

Still trembling from the excitement of the scene 
through which he had just passed, Frank followed the 
foreman into his little sanctum, the inside of which he 
had never seen before, for it was kept jealously locked 
whenever its occupant was absent. Johnston threw him- 
self down on his bunk, and motioned Frank to take a 
seat upon the chest. For a few moments he regarded 


62 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

him in silence, and so intently that, although his ex- 
pression was full of kindness, and it seemed -of admira- 
tion, too, the boy felt his face flushing under his steady 
scrutiny. At last the foreman spoke. 

“ You’re a plucky lad, Frank. Just like your father — 
God bless him ! He was a good friend to me when I 
needed a friend sorely. I heard all that went on to- 
night, though I didn’t see it, and had some hint of it 
before, though I didn’t let on ; for I wanted to see what 
stuff you were made of. But you played the man, my 
boy, and your father would have been proud to see you. 
How just you go right ahead, Frank ; and if any of 
those French rascals or anybody else tries to hinder you, 
out of this shanty, he’ll go, neck and crop, and stay out, 
as sure as my name is Dan Johnston.” 

“ You’re very kind, Mr. Johnston,” said Frank, his 
eyes glistening somewhat suspiciously ; for, to tell the 
truth, this warm praise coming after the recent strain 
upon his nerves, was a little too much for his self-control. 
“ I felt sometimes like telling you when the men tor- 
mented me so ; but I didn’t want to be a tattle-tale, and 
I was hoping they’d get tired of it and give up of their 
own accord.” 

“ It’s best as it is, lad,” replied Johnston. “ If the 
men found out you told me, they’d be like to think hard 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


63 


of you. But there’s no fear of that now. And look 
here, Frank. After this, when you want to read your 
Bible in peace, and say your prayers, just come in here. 
No one ’ll bother you here, and you can sit down on the 
chest there and have a quiet time to yourself.” 

Frank’s face fairly beamed with delight at this unex- 
pected invitation, and he stood up on his feet to thank 
his kind friend. 

“ Oh, Mr. Johnston, I’m so glad ! I’ve never been able 
to read my Bible or say my prayers right since I came 
to the shanty — there’s always such a noise going on. 
But I won’t mind that in here. It’s so good of you to 
let me come in.” 

The foreman smiled in his deep, serious way, and then 
as he relapsed into silence, and took up again the book 
he had laid down to spring to Frank’s assistance, Frank 
thought it time to withdraw; and with a respectful 
“ Good-night, sir,” which Johnston acknowledged by a 
nod, returned to the larger room. 

The shantymen were evidently awaiting his reappear- 
ance with much curiosity ; but he went quietly back to 
his bunk, picked up his Bible, finished the passage in the 
midst of which he had been interrupted, and, having 
said his prayers, lay down to sleep without a word to any 
one ; for no one questioned him, and he felt no dispo- 


6i THE CHORE- BOY OF CAMP K3PPEWA. 

sition to start a discussion by questioning any of the 
others. 

From this time forth he could see clearly that two 
very different opinions concerning himself prevailed in 
the shanty. By all the English members of the gang, 
and some of the French, headed by honest Baptiste, he 
was looked upon with hearty liking and admiration, as 
a plucky chap that knew how to take care of himself ; 
by the remainder of the French contingent, with Damase 
as the ruling spirit, he was regarded as a stuck-up young- 
ster that wanted taking down badly, and who was trying 
to make himself a special favorite with the foreman, just 
to advance his own selfish ends. Gladly would Frank 
have been on friendly terms with all, but this being now 
impossible, through no fault of his own, he made up his 
mind to go on his way as quietly as possible, being con- 
stantly careful to give no cause of offense to those who, 
as he well knew, were only too eager to take it. 

There were some slight flurries of snow, fragile and 
short-lived heralds of winter’s coming, during the latter 
part of November, and then December was ushered in by 
a grand storm, that lasted a whole day, and made glad 
the hearts of the lumbermen by filling the forest aisles 
with a deep, soft, spotless carpet, that asked only to be 
packed smooth and hard, in order to make perfect roads 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 65 


over which to transport the noble logs that had been 
accumulating upon the “ roll-ways ” during the past 
weeks. 

A shantyman is never so completely in his element as 
when the snow lies two feet deep upon the earth’s brown 
breast. An open winter is his bane, Jack Frost his best 
friend ; and there was a perceptible rise in the spirits of 
the occupants of Camp Kippewa as the mercury sank 
lower and lower in the tube of the foreman’s thermometer. 
Plenty of snow meant not only easy hauling all winter 
long, but a full river and “ high water ” in the spring- 
time, and no difficulty in getting the drive of logs that 
would represent their winter’s work, down the Kippewa 
to the Grand River beyond. Frank did not entirely 
share their exultation. The colder it got the more 
wood had to be chopped, the more food had to be cooked 
— for the men’s appetites showed a marked increase — 
and furthermore, the task of keeping the water barrels 
filled became one of serious magnitude. But bracing 
himself to meet his growing burdens, he toiled away 
cheerfully, resisting every temptation to grumble, his 
clear tuneful whistling of the sacred airs in vogue at 
Calumet making Baptiste, who had a quick ear for 
music, so familiar with “ Rock of Ages,” “Abide with 
Me,” “ Nearer, my God, to Thee,” and other melodies, 


66 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

which have surely strayed down to us from heaven, that 
unconsciously he took to whistling them himself, much to 
Frank’s amusement and approval. 

The days were very much alike. At early dawn, be- 
fore it was yet light enough to see clearly, Johnston 
would emerge from his corner, and in stentorian tones, 
whose meaning was not to be mistaken, shout to the 
sleeping men scattered along the rows of sloping bunks, 
“ Up with ye, men ! Up with ye.” And with many a 
growl and grunt they would, one by one, unroll from 
their blankets. As their only preparation for bed had 
been to lay aside their coats and boots or moccasins, the 
morning toilet did not consume much time. A dash of 
cold water as an eye-opener, a tugging on of boots, or 
lacing up of moccasins, a scrambling into coats, and that 
was the sum of it. The only brush and comb in the 
camp belonged to Frank, and he felt half ashamed to use 
them because no one else thought such articles necessary. 

Breakfast hurriedly disposed off, all but Baptiste and 
Frank sallied forth into the snow, to be seen no more un- 
til midday. There were just fifty persons, all told, in the 
camp, each man having his definite work to do : the car- 
penter, whose business it was to keep the sleighs in 
repair ; the teamsters, who directed the hauling of the 
logs ; the “ sled-tenders,” who saw that the loads were 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 67 

well put on ; the “ head chopper ” and his assistants, 
whose was the laborious yet fascinating task of felling 
the forest monarchs; the “sawyers,” who cut their pros- 
trate forms into convenient lengths ; the “ scorers,” who 
stripped off the branches and slab sides from tree trunks 
set apart for square timber; and finally, the “ hewer,” 
who with his huge broad-ax, made square the “ stick,” as 
the great piece of timber is called. 

All these men had to be fed three times a day, and 
almost insatiable were their appetites, as poor Frank had 
no chance to forget. Happily they did not demand the 
same variety on their bill of fare as do the guests at a 
metropolitan hotel. Pork and beans, bread and tea, these 
were the staple items. Anything else was regarded as an 
“ extra.” A rather monotonous diet, undoubtedly, but 
it would not be easy to prescribe a better one for men 
working twelve hours a day, in the open air, through the 
still steady cold of a Canadian winter in the back- 
woods. 

At noon the hungry toilers trooped back for dinner, 
which they devoured in ravenous haste that there might 
be as much as possible left of the hour for a lounge upon 
the bunk, with pipe in mouth, in luxurious idleness. 
Then as the dusk gathered they appeared once more, this 
time for the night, and disposed to eat their supper with 


68 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

much more decorous slowness. Supper over, the snow- 
soaked mittens and stockings hung about the fire to dry, 
and pipes put in full blast, they were ready for song, story, 
or dance, until bed time. 

Thus day followed day, until Frank, whose work kept 
him closely confined to the camp, grew so weary of it that 
he was on the verge of heartily repenting that he had 
ever consented to be a chore-boy, ever thought that was 
the only condition upon which he could gratify his long- 
ing for a lumberman’s life, when another mischance 
became his good fortune, and he was unexpectedly re- 
lieved of a large part of his tiresome duties. This was 
how it came about. 

One morning he was surprised by seeing one of the 
sleighs returning a good while before the dinner hour, 
and was somewhat alarmed when he noticed that it bore 
the form of a man, who had evidently been the victim of 
an accident. Happily, however, it proved to be not a 
very serious case. An immense pine in falling headlong 
had borne with it a number of smaller trees that stood 
near by, and one of these fell upon an unwary “ scorer,” 
hurling him to the ground, and badly bruising his right 
leg, besides causing some internal injury. He was insen- 
sible when picked up, but came to himself soon after 
reaching the shanty, where Frank made him as comfort- 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 69 

able as be could, even putting him upon his own mattress 
that he might lie as easy as possible. 

The injured man proved to be one of Darnase Desche- 
naux’s allies; but Frank did not let that prevent his 
showing him every kindness while he was recovering from 
his injuries, with the result of completely winning the 
poor ignorant fellow’s heart, much to Damase’s disgust. 
Darnase, indeed, did his best to persuade Laberge that 
Frank’s attentions were prompted by some secret motive, 
and that it was not to be trusted. But deeds are far 
stronger arguments than words, and the sufferer was not 
to be convinced. By the end of a week he was able to 
limp about the shanty, but it was very evident that he 
would not be fit to take up his work again that season. 
This state of affairs caused the foreman some .concern, for 
he felt loth to send the unfortunate fellow home, and yet 
he could not keep him in idleness. Then it appeared that 
what is one man’s extremity may be another's opportu- 
nity. Johnston knew very well that however bravely he 
might go about it, Frank’s work could not help being 
distasteful to him, and a bright plan flashed into his 
mind. Calling Frank into his corner one evening, he 
said : 

How would you like, my lad, to have some of the 
out-door work, for a change ? ” 


70 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

The mere . expression of Frank’s face was answer 
enough. It fairly shone with gladness, as he replied : 

“ I would like it above all things, sir ; for I am a little 
tired of being nothing but a chore-boy.” 

“ Well, I think we might manage it, Frank,” said the 
foreman. “ You see, Laberge can’t do his work again 
this winter, and it goes against my heart to send him 
home, for he’s nobody but himself to depend upon. So 
I’ve hit upon this plan : Laberge can’t chop the wood or 
haul the water, but he can help Baptiste in cooking and 
cleaning up. Suppose, then, you were to get the wood 
ready and see about the water in the morning, and then 
come out into the woods with us after dinner, leaving 
Laberge to do the rest of the work. How would that 
suit you V\ 

“It would suit me just splendidly, sir,” exclaimed 
Frank, delightedly. “ I can see about the wood and 
water all right before dinner, and I’ll be so glad to go to 
the woods with you. I’ll just do the best I can to fill 
Laberge’s place.” 

“ I’m right sure you will, Frank,” replied Johnston. 
“ So you may consider it settled for the present, at any 
rate.” 

Frank felt like dancing a jig on the way back to his 
bunk, and not even the scowling face of Hamase, w r ho 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 71 

had been listening to the conversation in the foreman’s 
room with keen Indian ears, and had caught enough of it 
to learn of the arrangement made, could cast any damper 
upon his spirits. In this case half a loaf was decidedly 
better than no bread at all. Freedom from the restraints 
and irksome duties of chore-boy’s lot for even half the day 
was a precious boon, and the happy boy lay down to rest 
that night feeling like quite a different person from what 
he had been of late, when there seemed no way of 
escape from the monotonous, wearisome task he had 
taken upon himself, except to give it all up and return 
to Calumet, which was almost the last thing that he 
could imagine himself doing ; for Frank Kingston 
had plenty of pride as well as pluck, and his love for 
lumbering had not suffered any eclipse because of his 
experiences. 

But what is one man’s meat is another man’s poison, 
according to the homely adage, and in this case what 
made Frank so happy made Damase miserable. The 
jealous, revengeful fellow saw in it only another proof of 
the foreman’s favoritism, and was also pleased to regard 
the relegating of Laberge to the dish washing and 
so forth as the degradation of a compatriot, which it 
behooved him to resent, since Laberge seemed lacking in 
the spirit to do it himself. Had he imagined that he 


72 THE CHOKE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

would meet with the support of the majority, he would 
have sought to organize a rebellion in the camp. But 
he knew well enough that such a thing was utterly out of 
the question, so he was forced to content himself with 
fresh determinations to “get even” with the foreman 
and his favorite in some way before the winter passed, 
and, as will be seen, he came perilously near attaining 
his object. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A THRILLING EXPERIENCE. 

TARANK was very happy, now that the way had been 
so opportunely opened for him to take part in the 
whole round of lumbering operations. He awaited with 
impatience the coming of noon and the rush of hungry 
men to their hearty dinner, because it was the signal for 
his release from chore-boy work and promotion to the 
more honorable position of assistant-teamster. The long 
afternoons out in the cold, crisp air, amid the thud of 
well-aimed axes, the crash of falling trees, the shouts of 
busy men, and all the other noisy incidents of the war 
they were waging against the innocent, defenseless forest, 
were precisely what his heart had craved so long, and he 
felt clearer than ever in his mind that lumbering was the 
life for him. 

After he had been a week at his new employment, Con 
Murphy, the big teamster to whom he had been assigned 
by the foreman, with the injunction to “ be easy on the 
lad, and give him plenty of time to get handy,” was heard 
to say in public : 

“ Faith, an’ he’s a broth of a boy, I can tell you ; and 

73 


74 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

I wouldn’t give him for half a dozen of those parlez vous 
Frenchies like the chap whose place he took — indade 
that I wouldn’t.” 

Which, coming to Damase’s ears, added further fuel 
to the fire of jealousy and hate that was burning within 
this half-savage creature’s breast. So fierce indeed were 
Damase’s feelings that he could not keep them con- 
cealed, and more than one of the shantymen took occa- 
sion to drop a word of warning into Frank’s ear about 
him. 

“You’d better keep a sharp eye on that chap, Damase, 
Frank,” they would say. “ He’s an ugly customer, and 
he seems to have got it in for you.” 

Frank on his part was by no means disposed to laugh 
at or neglect these kindly warnings. Indeed, he fully in- 
tended repeating them to Johnston at the first oppor- 
tunity. But the days slipped by without a favorable 
chance presenting itself, and Damase’s wild thirst for the 
revenge which he thought was merited came perilously 
near a dreadful satisfaction. 

February had come, and supplies at the shanty were 
running low, so that Foreman Johnston deemed it neces- 
sary to pay a visit to the depot to see about having a 
fresh stock sent out. The first that Frank knew of his 
intention was the night before he started. He had gone 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 76 

into the foreman’s little room as usual to read his Bible 
and pray, and having finished was about to slip quietly 
out, Johnston having apparently been quite unobservant 
of his presence, when he was asked : 

“ How would you like to go over to the depot with me 
to-morrow ? ” 

How would he like ! Such a question to ask of a boy, 
when it meant a twenty-five mile drive and a whole day's 
holiday after months of steady work at the camp ! 

“I should be delighted, sir,” replied Frank, as 
promptly as he could get the words out. 

“ Very well, then ; you can come along with me. 
We’ll start right after breakfast. Baptiste will have to 
look after himself for one day,” said the foreman. And 
with a fervent “ Thank you, sir,” Frank went off, his face 
wreathed with smiles and his heart throbbing with joy at 
the prospect before him. 

So eager was he that it did not need Johnston’s shout 
of “ Turn out, lads, turn out ! ” to waken him next morn- 
ing, for he was wide awake already, and he tumbled 
into his clothes with quite unusual alacrity. So soon as 
breakfast was over, the foreman had one of the best 
horses in the stable harnessed to his “jumper,” as the 
low, strong, comfortable wooden sleigh that is alone able 
to cope with the rough forest roads is called ; abundance 


76 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

of thick warm buffalo-robes were provided ; and then he 
and Frank tucked themselves in tightly, and they set out 
on their long drive to the depot. 

The mercury stood at twenty degrees below zero when 
they started, but they did not mind that. Not a breath 
of wind stirred the clear cold air. The sun soon rose 
into the blue vault above them, and shone down 
upon the vast expanse of snow about them with 
a vigor that made their eyes blink. The horse was 
a fine animal, and, having been off duty for a few days 
previous, was full of speed and spirit, and they glided 
over, the well beaten portion of the road at a dashing 
pace. But when they came to the part over which there 
had been little travel all winter long the going was too 
heavy for much speed, and often the horse could not do 
more than walk. 

This seemed to Frank just the opportunity for which 
he had been waiting, to tell the foreman about Damase 
and his threats of revenge. At first Johnston was dis- 
posed to make light of the matter, but when Frank told 
him what he had himself observed, as well as what had 
been reported to him by the others, the foreman was suf- 
ficiently impressed to say : 

“The rascal wants some looking after, that’s clear. 
He’s a worthless fellow, anyway, and I’m mighty sorry I 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 77 

ever let him into my gang. I think the best thing will 
be to drop him as soon as I get back, or he may make 
some trouble for us. I’m glad you told me this, Frank. 
I won’t forget it.” 

At the depot they found Alec Stewart, just returned 
from a tour of inspection of the different camps, and full 
of hearty welcome. He was very glad to see Frank. 

“ Ah ! ha ! my boy,” he cried, slapping him vigorously 
on the back. “I needn’t ask you how you are. Your 
looks answer for you. Why, you must weigh ten pounds 
more than when I last saw you. Well, what do you 
think of lumbering now, and how does Mr. Johnston 
treat you ? They tell me,” looking at the foreman with 
a sly smile, “ that he’s a mighty stiff boss. Is that the 
way you find him ? ” 

Frank was ready enough to answer all his friend’s 
questions, and to assure him that the foreman treated him 
like a kind father, and that he himself was fonder of 
lumbering than ever. Both he and Johnston had famous 
appetites for the bountiful dinner that was soon spread 
before them, and, the resources of the depot permitting 
of a much more extensive bill of fare than was possible 
at the shanty, he felt in duty bound to apologize for the 
avidity with which he attacked the juicy roast of beef, 
the pearly potatoes, the toothsome pudding, and the other 


78 THE CHOEE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


dainties that, after months of pork and beans, tasted like 
ambrosia. 

The superintendent and the foreman had much to say 
to one another which did not concern Frank, and so 
while they talked business he roamed about the place, 
enjoying the freedom from work and chatting with the 
men at the barn, telling them some of his experiences and 
being told some of theirs in return. Happening to men- 
tion Damase Deschenaux, one of the men at once ex- 
claimed : 

“ That’s a first-class scoundrel ! It beats me to under- 
stand why Johnston has him in his gang. He’s sure to 
raise trouble wherever he goes.” 

Frank felt tempted to tell how Damase had “ raised 
trouble ” with him, but thought he would better not, and 
the talk soon turned in another direction. 

The afternoon was waning before Johnston prepared 
to start on the return journey, and Mr. Stewart tried hard 
to persuade him to stay for the night — an invitation that 
Frank devoutly hoped would be accepted. But the big 
foreman would not hear of it. 

“ No, no,” said he, in his decided way, “ I must get 
back to the shanty. There’s been only half a day’s work 
done to-day, I’ll warrant you, because I wasn’t on hand 
to keep the beggars at it. Why, they’ll lie abed till mid- 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 79 

day to-morrow if I'm not there to rouse them out of their 
bunks.” 

Whatever Johnston said he stuck to, so there was no 
use in argument, and shortly after four o’clock he 
and Frank tucked themselves snugly into the jumper 
again and drove away from the depot, Stewart shouting 
after them : 

“ If you change your mind after you’ve gone a couple 
of miles, don't feel delicate about coming back. I won’t 
laugh at you.” 

Johnston’s only answer was a grim smile and a crack 
of the whip over the horse’s hind-quarters that sent him 
off at full gallop, the snow flying in clouds from his 
plunging feet into the faces of his passengers. 

The hours crept by as the sleigh made its slow way 
over the heavy road, and Frank, as might be expected 
after the big dinner he had eaten, began to feel very 
sleepy. There was no reason why he should not yield to 
the seductive influence of the drowsy god ; so, sinking 
down low into the seat and drawing the buffalo-robe up 
over his head, he soon was lost to sight and sense. While 
he slept the night fell, and they were still many miles 
from home. The cold was great, but not a breath of 
wind stirred the intense stillness. The stars shone out 
like flashing diamonds set in lapis-lazuli. Silence reigned 


80 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

supreme, save as it was intruded upon by the heavy 
breathing of the frost-flaked horse and the crunching of 
the runners through the crisp snow. 

Johnston felt glad when they breasted the hill on the 
other side of which was Deep Gully, crossed by a rude 
corduroy bridge ; for that bridge was just five miles from 
the camp, and another hour, at the farthest, would bring 
them to the end of their journey. 

When the top of the hill was reached, the foreman 
gathered up the reins, called upon the horse to quicken 
his pace, and away they went down the slope at a tearing 
gallop. 

Deep Gully well deserved the name that had been 
given it when the road was made. A turbulent torrent 
among the hills had in the course of time eaten a way for 
itself which, although very narrow, made up for its lack 
of breadth by a great degree of depth. It was a rather 
picturesque place in summer time, when abundant foliage 
softened its steep sides, but in winter, when it seemed 
more like a crevasse in a glacier than anything else, 
there was no charm about it. The bridge that crossed it 
was a very simple affair, consisting merely of two long 
stringers laid six feet apart, and covered with flattened 
timbers. 

Upon this slight structure the jumper descended with 


4 


THE CHOEE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 81 


a bump that woke Frank from his pleasant nap, and, 
putting aside the buffalo robe, he sat up in the sleigh to 
gather his wits. It was well he did, for if ever he needed 
them it was at that moment. Almost simultaneous with 
the thud of the horse’s feet upon the bridge there came a 
crash, a sound of rending timbers, the bridge quivered 
like a ship struck by a mighty billow, and the next in- 
stant dropped into the chasm below, bearing with it a 
man, and boy, and horse, and sleigh ! 

Full thirty feet they fell ; the bridge, which had given 
way at one end only, hurling them from it so that they 
landed at the bottom of Deep Gully in a confused heap, 
yet happily free from entanglement with its timbers. 
So soon as he felt himself falling Frank threw aside the 
robes and made ready to spring, but Johnston instinct- 
ively held on to the reins, with the result that, being 
suddenly dragged forward by the frantic plunging of the 
terrified animal, he received a kick in the forehead that 
rendered him insensible, and would have dashed his 
brains out but for the thick fur cap he wore, while the 
jumper, turning over upon him, wrenched his leg so as 
to render him completely helpless. 

Frank was more fortunate. His timely spring, aided 
by the impetus of their descent, carried him clear of the 

horse and sleigh, and sent him headlong into a deep drift 
F 


82 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA, 

that filled a hollow at the gully’s bottom. The snow- 
bank opened its arms to receive him, and buried him to 
the hips. The first shock completely deprived him of 
breath, and almost of his senses too. But beyond that he 
received no injury, and was soon struggling with all his 
might to free himself from the snow that held him cap- 
tive. This proved to be ho easy task. He was pretty 
firmly embedded, and at first it seemed as though his 
efforts at release only made his position worse. 

“ This is a fine fix to be in ! ” said he to himself. 
“ Buried in a snow drift, and dear knows what’s hap- 
pened to Mr. Johnston.” 

He had been hoping that the foreman would come to 
his assistance, but, getting no reply to his shouts, he be- 
gan to fear lest his companion might be unable to ren- 
der any help. Perhaps, indeed, he might be dead ! The 
thought roused him to still greater exertions, and at last 
by a heroic effort he succeeded in turning a kind of 
somersault in his cold prison, which had the happy result 
of putting his head where his heels had been. To 
scramble out altogether was then an easy job, and in 
another instant he was beside the sleigh. 

His first thought was that his worst fears were realized. 
Certainly the sight was one that might have filled a 
stouter heart with chill alarm. The horse had fallen into 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 83 

a deep drift, which covered him to the shoulders, and 
rendered him utterly helpless, entangled as he was with 
the harness and the overturned jumper. He had evi- 
dently, like Frank, been struggling violently to free him- 
self, but, finding it useless, had for a time ceased his 
efforts, and stood wild-eyed and panting, the picture of 
animal terror. On seeing Frank, he made another frantic 
plunge or two, looking at the boy with an expression of 
agonized appeal, as though he would say : 

“ Oh, help me out of this dreadful place ! ” 

And glad would Frank have been to respond to the 
best of his ability. But the poor horse could not be con- 
sidered first. Half under the sleigh, half-buried in the 
snow, lay the big foreman, to all appearance dead, the 
blood flowing freely from an ugly gash in his forehead, 
where the fur cap had failed to protect him entirely from 
the horse’s hoof. 

Frank sprang to his side, and with a tremendous effort 
turned him over upon his back, and, getting out his 
handkerchief, wiped the blood away from his face. As 
he did so, the first awful thought of death gave way to a 
feeling of hope. White and still as Johnston lay, his face 
was warm, and he was surely breathing a little. Seizing 
a handful of snow, Frank pressed it to the foreman’s fore- 
head, and cried to him as though he were asleep. 


84 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

“Mr. Johnston, Mr. Johnston! What’s the matter 
with you? Tell me, won’t you ? ” 

For some minutes there was no sign of response. Then 
the injured man stirred, gave a deep sigh, followed by 
a groan, opened his eyes with a look of dazed bewil- 
derment, and put his hand up to his head, which was 
evidently giving him intense pain. 

“ Oh, Mr. Johnston, I’m so glad ! I was afraid you were 
dead,” exclaimed Frank. “ Can't I help you to get up ? ” 

Turning upon his shoulder, the foreman made an effort 
to raise himself, but at once sank back with a groan. 

“ I’m sore hurt, my lad,” he said ; “ I can’t stir. 
You’ll have to get help.” 

And so great was his suffering that he well-nigh lost 
consciousness again. 

Frank tried his best to lift him away from the 
sleigh, but found the task altogether beyond his young 
strength in that deep snow, and had to give it up as 
hopeless. Certainly he was in a most trying situation 
for a mere boy — fully five miles from the shanty, with 
an almost untraveled road between that must be 
traversed by him alone while the injured man would lie 
helpless in the snow until his return. Little wonder if 
he felt in sore perplexity as to what should be done, and 
how he should act under the circumstances. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


IN THE NICK OF TIME. 

I F Frank was undecided Mr. Johnston’s mind was 
fully made up. 

“ Our only chance is for you to get to the shanty at 
once, Frank. It’ll be a hard job, my boy, but you’ll 
have to try it,” said he. 

“ But what’ll become of you, sir, staying here all 
alone? The wolves might find you out, and how could 
you defend yourself then ? ” asked Frank, in sore bewil- 
derment as to the solution of the dilemma. 

“ I’ll have to take my chances of that, Frank, for if 
I stay here all night I’ll freeze to death, anyway ; so just 
throw the buffaloes over me and put for the shanty as 
fast as you can,” replied the foreman. 

Unable to suggest any better plan, Frank covered 
Johnston carefully with the robes, making him as comfort- 
able as he could, then buttoning up his coat and pulling 
his cap on tightly he was about to scramble up the 
steep side of the gully to regain the road when the 
foreman said, in a low tone, almost a whisper : 

“ This is about the time you generally say your 

85 


86 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

prayers, Frank. Couldn’t you say them here before you 
start ? ” 

With quick intuition Frank divined the big bashful 
man’s meaning. It was his roundabout way of asking 
the boy to commit him to the care of God before leaving 
him alone in his helplessness. 

Feeling half condemned at not having thought of it 
himself, Frank came back and, kneeling close beside his 
friend, lifted up his voice in prayer with a fervor and 
simplicity that showed how strong and sure was his faith 
in the love and power of his Father in heaven. When 
he had finished his petition, the foreman added to it 
an “Amen ” that seemed to come from the very depths 
of his heart, and then, yielding to an impulse that was 
irresistible, Frank bent down and implanted a sudden 
kiss upon the pale face looking at him with such earnest, 
anxious eyes. This unexpected proof of warm affection 
completely overcame the foreman, whose feelings had 
been already deeply stirred by the prayer. Strong, 
reserved man as he was, he could not keep back the 
tears. 

“ God bless you, my boy,” he murmured, huskily. “ If 
I get safely out of this I shall be a different man. You 
have taught me a lesson I won’t forget.” 

“ God bless you and take care of you, sir,” answered 


THE CHOBE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 87 

Frank. “ I hope nothing will happen to you while I’m 
away, and I’ll be back as soon as 1 can.” 

The next moment he was making his way up the 
gully's side, and soon a triumphant shout announced 
that he had reached the road and was off for the lumber 
camp at his best speed. 

The task before him was one from which many a 
grown man might have shrunk in dismay. For five 
long lonely miles the road ran through the forest that 
darkened it with heavy shadows, and not a living soul 
could he hope to meet until he reached the shanty. 

It was now past eight o’clock, and to do his best, it 
would take him a whole hour to reach his goal. The 
snow lay deep upon the road, and was but little beaten 
down by the few sleighs that had passed over it. The 
air was keen and crisp with frost, the temperature being 
many degrees below zero. And finally, the most fear- 
inspiring of all, there was the possibility of wolves ; for 
the dreaded timber wolf had been both heard and seen 
in close proximity to the camp of late, an unusual 
scarcity of small game having made him daring in his 
search for food. 

But Frank possessed a double source of strength. He 
was valiant by nature and he had implicit faith in God’s 
overruling providence. He felt specially under the 


88 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

divine care now, and, resolutely putting away all 
thoughts of personal danger, addressed himself, mind and 
body, to the one thing — the relief of Johnston from his 
perilous position. 

With arms braced at his sides and head bent forward 
he set out at a jog-trot, which was better suited for 
getting through the deep snow than an ordinary walk. 
Fortunately he was in the very pink of condition. The 
steady hard work of the preceding months, combined with 
the coarse but abundant food and early hours, had devel- 
oped and strengthened every muscle in his body and 
hardened his constitution until few boys of his age could 
have been found better fitted to endure a long tramp 
through heavy snow than he. Moreover, running had 
always been his favorite form of athletic exercise, and 
the muscles it required were well trained for their work. 

“ 1 11 do it all right inside the hour,” he said to him- 
self. And then, as a sudden thought struck him, he gave 
a nervous little laugh, and added, “ And perhaps make a 
good deal better time if I hear anything of the wolves.” 

Try as he might, he could not get the wolves out of his 
head. He had not himself seen any signs of them, but 
several times the choppers working farthest from the 
camp had mentioned finding their tracks in the snow, 
and once they had been heard howling in the distance 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 89 

after the men had all come into the shanty for the 
night. 

On he went through the snow and night, now making 
good progress at his brisk jog-trot, now going more slowly 
as he dropped into a walk to rest himself and recover 
breath. Although the moon rode high in the heavens, 
the trees which stood close to the road allowed few of her 
beams to light his path. 

“ If it was only broad daylight I wouldn’t mind it 
a bit,” Frank soliloquized ; “ but this going alone at this 
time of night is not the sort of a job I care for.” 

And then the thought of poor Johnston lying helpless 
but uncomplaining in the snow made him feel ashamed 
of his words, and to ease his conscience he broke into a 
trot again. Just as he did so, a sound reached his ear 
that sent a thrill of terror to his heart. Hoping he 
might be mistaken he stopped, and listened with straining 
senses. For a moment there was absolute silence. Then 
the sound came again — distant, but clear and unmistak- 
able. He had heard it only once before, yet he felt as 
sure of it now as if it had been his mother’s voice. It 
was the howl of the timber wolf sounding through the 
still night air from somewhere to the north ; how far 
away he could not determine. 

For a moment all his strength seemed to leave him. 


90 THE CHOEE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

How helpless he was alone in that mighty forest without 
even so much as a knife wherewith to defend himself! 
But it would not do to stand irresolute. His own life as well 
as the foreman’s depended upon his reaching the shanty. 
Were he to climb one of the big trees that stood around, 
the wolves, of course, could not get at him ; but Johnston 
would be dead before daylight came to release him from 
his tree citadel, and perhaps he would himself fall a vic- 
tim to the cold in that exposed situation. There was no 
other alternative than to run for his life, so, breathing 
out a fervent prayer for divine help and protection, he 
summoned all his energies to the struggle. He was more 
than a mile from the shanty, and his exertion had told 
severely upon his strength ; but the great peril of his 
situation made him forget his weariness, and he started oft 
as if he were perfectly fresh. 

But the howling of the wolves grew more and more 
distinct as they drew swiftly nearer, and with agony of 
heart the poor boy felt his breath coming short and his 
limbs beginning to fail beneath him. Nearer and 
nearer came his dreaded pursuers, and every moment he 
expected to see them burst into the road behind him. 

Fortunately, he had reached a part of the road which, 
being near the camp, was much used by the teams draw- 
ing logs to the river bank, and was consequently beaten 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 91 

• hard and smooth. This welcome change enabled him to 
quicken his steps, which had dropped into a walk, and 
although he felt almost blind from exhaustion, he pushed 
desperately forward, hoping at every turn of the road to 
catch a glimpse of the shanty showing dark through the 
trees. The cry of the disciples caught in the sudden 
storm on Galilee, “ Lord, save us, we perish ! ” kept 
coming to his lips as he staggered onward. Surely there 
could not be much further to go! He turned for a 
moment to look behind him. The wolves were in sight, 
their dark forms showing distinctly against the snow as 
in silence now they gained upon their prey. Run as 
hard as he might, they must be upon him ere another 
fifty yards were passed. He felt as if it were all over 
with him, and so utter was his exaustion that it seemed 
to benumb his faculties and make him half willing for 
the end to come. 

But the end was not to be as the wolves desired. 
Just at the critical moment when further exertion 
seemed impossible he caught sight of some one approach- 
ing him rapidly from the direction of the shanty and 
shouting aloud while he rushed forward to meet him. 
With one last supreme effort he plunged toward this 
timely apparition, and a moment later fell insensible at 
his feet. 


92 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP K1PPEWA. 

It was Baptiste, good-heated, affectionate Baptiste, 
who, having awaited the travelers’ return and grown 
concerned at their long delay, had gone out to look along 
the road to see if they were anywhere in view. Catch- 
ing sight of Frank’s lonely figure, he had made all haste 
to meet him, and reached him just in time to ward off the 
wolves that in a minute more would have been upon 
him. 

When the wolves saw Baptiste, who swung a gleam- 
ing ax about his head as he shouted, “ Chiens done! 
I’ll split your heads eef I get at you ! ” they stopped 
short, and even retreated a 'little, drawing themselves 
together in a sort of group in the middle of the road, 
snapping their teeth and snarling in a half-frightend, 
half-furious manner. But Baptiste was not to be 
daunted. Lifting his ax on high, he shouted at them 
in his choicest French and charged upon the pack 
as though they had been simply a flock of marauding 
sheep. Wolves are arrant cowards, and without pausing 
to take into consideration the disparity of numbers, for 
they stood twelve to one, they fled, ignominiously before 
the plucky Frenchman, not halting until they had put 
fifty yards between themselves and him. Whereupon 
Baptiste seized upon the opportunity to pick up the still 
senseless Frank, throw him over his broad shoulder, and 



The Chore Boy of Camp Kippewa. 

Page 92 














• I 43 a 



























THE CHOHE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 93 

hasten back to the shanty before the wolves should 
regain their self-possession. 

They were all asleep in the shanty when the cook 
returned with his unconscious burden, but he soon roused 
the others with his vigorous shouts, and by the time they 
were fully awake Frank was awake too, the warm air of 
the room quickly reviving him from his faint. Looking 
round about with a bewildered expression, he asked 
anxiously : 

“Where is Mr. Johnston? Hasn’t he come back 
too ? ” 

Then he recollected himself, and a picture of his good 
friend lying prostrate and helpless in the snow, perhaps 
surrounded by the same wolves that brave Baptiste had 
rescued him from, flashed into his mind, and, springing 
to his feet, he cried : 

“ Hurry — hurry ! Mr. Johnston is in Deep Gully, and 
he can’t move. The bridge broke under us and he was 
almost killed. Oh, hurry, won’t you, or the wolves will 
be after him ! ” 

The men looked at one another in astonishment and 
horror. 

“ Deep Gully ! ” they exclaimed. “ That's five miles 
off. We must go at once.” 

And immediately all was bustle and excitement as they 


94 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

prepared to go out into the night. As lumbermen 
always sleep in their clothes they did not take long to 
dress, and in a wonderfully short space of time the team- 
sters had a sleigh with a pair of horses at the door, upon 
which eight of the men, armed with guns and axes, 
sprang, and off they went along the road as fast as 
the horses could gallop. Frank wanted to accompany 
them, but Baptiste would not allow him. 

“ No, no, mon cher. You must stay wid me. You 
tired out. They get him all right and bring him safe 
home.” 

And he was fain to lie back so tortured with anxiety 
for the foreman that he could hardly appreciate the 
blessing of rest, although his own exertions had been 
tremendous. 

Not sparing the horses, the rescuers sped over the road, 
ever now and then discharging a gun, in order to let 
Johnston know of their approach and keep his courage 
up. In less than half an hour they reached the gully, 
and, peering over the brink, beheld the dark heap in the 
snow below that was the object of their search. One 
glance was sufficient to show how timely was their com- 
ing, for almost encircling the hapless man were smaller 
shapes that even at that distance could be readily 
recognized. 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 95 

“We’re too late!” cried one of the men. “They’re 
wolves.” And with a wild shout he flung himself reck- 
lessly down the snowy slope, and others followed close 
behind. 

Before their tumultuous onset the wolves fled like 
leaves before the autumn wind, and poor Johnston, 
almost dead -with pain, cold, and exhaustion, raising 
himself a little from the snow, called out in a faint but 
joyful tone: 

“ Thank God, you’ve come in time. I thought it was 


all over with me.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


OUT OF CLOUDS, SUNSHINE. 


RE AT was the joy of the men at finding Johnston 



VA alive and still able to speak, and ‘at once their 
united strength was applied to extricating him from his 
painful position. The poor horse, utterly unable to help 
himself, had long ago given up the vain struggle, and in 
a state of pitiful exhaustion and fright, was lying where 
he first fell, the snow all about him being torn up in 
a way that showed how furious had been his struggles. 
Johnston had, by dint of heroic exertion, managed to 
withdraw his leg a little from underneath the heavy 
jumper, but he could not free himself altogether, so that 
had the wolves found out how completely both horse and 
man were in their power, they would have made short 
work of both. Fortunately, by vigorous shouting and 
wild waving of his arms, the foreman had been able to 
keep the cowardly creatures at bay long enough to allow 
the rescuing party to reach him. But he could not have 
kept up many minutes more, and if strength and voice 
had entirely forsaken him the dreadful end would soon 
have followed. 


96 


THE CHORE BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 97 


Handling the injured man with a tenderness and care 
one would hardly have looked for in such rough fellows, 
the lumbermen after no small exertion got him up out of 
the Gully and laid him upon the sleigh in the road. Then 
the horse was released from the jumper, and, being 
coaxed to his feet, led down the Gully to where the 
sides were not so steep and he could scramble up, while 
th'e jumper itself was left behind to be recovered when 
they had more time to spare. 

Before they started off for the shanty one of the men 
had the curiosity to cross the Gully and examine the 
bridge where it broke, in order to find out the cause of 
the accident. When he returned there was a strange 
expression on his face, which added to the curiosity of 
the others who were awaiting his report. 

“ Both stringers are sawed near through ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ And it’s not been done long, either. Must 
have been done to-day, for the sawdust’s lying round 
still.” 

The men looked at one another in amazement and 
horror. The stringers sawed through ! What scoundrel 
could have done such a thing? Who was the murderous 
traitor in their camp? Then to the quickest-witted of 
them came the thought of Damase’s dire threat and con- 
suming jealousy. 

G 


98 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

“ I know who did it,” he cried. “ There’s only one 
man in the camp villain enough to do it. It was that 
hound, Damase, as sure as I stand here ! ” 

Instantly the others saw the matter in the same light. 
Damase had done it beyond a doubt, hoping thereby to 
have the revenge for which his savage heart thirsted. 
Ill would it have gone with him could the men 
have laid hands on him at that moment. They 
were just in the mood to have inflicted such punishment 
as would probably have put the wretch in a worse plight 
than his intended victim, and many and fervent were 
their vows of vengeance, expressed in language rather the 
reverse of polite. Strict almost to severity as Johnston 
was in his management of the camp, the majority of the 
men, including all the best elements, regarded him with 
deep respect, if not affection ; and that Damase Desche- 
naux should make so dastardly attempt upon his life 
aroused in them a storm of indignant wrath which would 
not soon be allayed. 

They succeeded in making the sufferer quite comfort- 
able upon the sleigh, but they had to go very slowly on the 
return journey to the shanty, both to make it easy for 
Johnston and because the men had to walk, now that the 
sleigh was occupied. So soon as they came in sight, 
Frank ran to meet them, calling out eagerly : 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 99 

“ Is lie all right ? Have you got him ? ” 

“ We’ve got him, Frank, safe enough,” replied the driver 
of the sleigh. “ But we wasn’t a minute too soon, I can tell 
you. I guess you must have sent your wolves off to him 
when you’d done with them.” 

“Were the wolves at you, sir?” exclaimed Frank, 
bending over the foreman, and looking anxiously into his 
face. 

Johnston had fallen into a sort of doze or stupor, but 
the stopping of the sleigh and Frank’s anxious voice 
aroused him, and he opened his eyes with a smile that 
told plainly how dear to him the boy had become. 

“ They weren’t quite at me, Frank, but they soon would 
have been if the men hadn’t come along,” he replied. 

With exceeding tenderness, the big helpless man was 
lifted from the sleigh and placed in his own bunk in the 
corner. The whole shanty was awake to receive him, a 
glorious fire roared and crackled upon the hearth, and 
the pleasant fragrance of fresh brewed tea filled the 
room. So soon as the foreman’s outer garments had 
been removed, Frank brought him a pannikin of the 
lumberman’s pet beverage, and he drank it eagerly, say- 
ing that it was all the medicine he needed. Beyond 
making him as comfortable as possible, nothing further 
could be done for him, and in a little while the shanty- 


100 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

men were all asleep again as soundly as though there 
had been no disturbance of their slumbers. Frank 
wanted to sit up with Johnston, but the foreman would 
not hear of it, and, anyway, thoroughly sincere as was 
his offer, he never could have carried it out, for he was 
very weary himself and ready to drop asleep at the first 
chance. 

Of Damase there was no sign. Some of the men had 
noticed him quitting work earlier than usual in the after- 
noon, and when he did not appear at supper time had 
thought he was gone off hunting, which he loved to do 
whenever he got the opportunity. Whether or not he 
would have the assurance to return to the shanty would 
depend upon whether he had waited in ambush to see the 
result of his villainy, for if he had done so, and had wit- 
nessed the at least partial failure of his plot, there was 
little chance of his being seen again. 

The next morning a careful examination of Johnston 
showed that, while no bones were broken, his right leg 
had been very badly twisted and strained, almost to dis- 
location, and he had been internally injured to an extent 
that could be determined only by a doctor. It was de- 
cided to send a message for the nearest doctor, and mean- 
while to do everything possible for the sufferer in the way 
of bandages and liniments that the simple shanty outfit 


THE CHORE- BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 101 

afforded. By general understanding, Frank assumed the 
duties of nurse, and it was not long before life at the camp 
settled down into its accustomed routine, Johnston hav- 
ing appointed the most experienced and reliable of the 
gang its foreman during his confinement. In due time 
the doctor came, examined his patient, made everybody 
glad by announcing that none of the injuries were 
serious, and that they required only time and attention 
for their cure, wrote out full directions for Frank to 
follow, and then, congratulating Johnston upon his good 
fortune in having so devoted and intelligent a nurse, set 
off again on the long drive to his distant home with the ' 
pleasant consciousness of having done his duty and earned 
a good fee. 

The weeks that followed were the happiest Frank 
spent that winter. His duties as nurse were not onerous, 
and he enjoyed very much the importance with which 
they invested him. So long as his patient was well 
looked after, he was free to come and go according to his 
inclinations, and the thoughtful foreman saw to it that he 
spent at least half the day in the open air, often sending 
him with messages to the men working far off in the 
woods. Frank always carried his rifle with him on these 
tramps, and frequently brought back with him a brace 
of hares or partridges, which, having had the benefit of 


102 THE CHORE-BOY OP CAMP KIPPEWA. 

Baptiste’s skill, were greatly relished by Johnston, who 
found his appetite for the plain fare of the shanty much 
dulled by his confinement. 

As the days slipped by the foreman began to open his 
heart to his young companion and to tell him much about 
his boyhood, which deeply interested Frank. Living a 
frontier life, he had his full share of adventure in hunt- 
ing, lumbering, and prospecting for limits, and many an 
hour was spent reviewing the past. One evening while 
they were thus talking together Johnston became silent 
and fell into a sort of reverie, from which he presently 
roused himself, and, looking very earnestly into Frank’s 
face, asked him : 

“ Have you always been a Christian, Frank ? ” 

The question came so unexpectedly and was so direct, 
that Frank was quite taken aback, and, being slow to 
answer, the foreman, as if fearing he had been too 
abrupt, went on to sa\ : 

“The reason I asked was because you seem to enjoy 
so much reading your Bible and saying your prayers 
that I thought you must have had those good habits a 
long time,” 

Frank had now fully recovered himself, and with a 
blush that greatly became him, answered modestly : 

“ I have always loved God. Mother taught me how 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


103 


good and kind lie is as soon as I was old enough to un- 
derstand, and the older I get the more I want to love him 
and to try to do what is right.” 

A look of ineffable tenderness came into Johnston’s 
dark eyes while the boy was speaking. Then his face 
darkened, and, giving vent to a heavy sigh, he passed his 
hand over his eyes as though to put away some painful 
recollection. After a moment’s silence, he said : 

“ My mother loved her Bible 'and wanted me to love 
it too. But I was a wild, headstrong chap, and didn’t 
take kindly to the notion of being religious, and I‘m 
afraid I cost her many a tear. God bless her ! I wonder 
does she ever up there think of her son down here, and 
wonder if he’s any better than he was when she had to 
leave him to look after himself.” 

Not knowing just what to say, Frank made no reply, 
but his face glowed with sympathetic interest, and after 
another pause the foreman went on : 

“ I’ve been thinking a great deal lately, Frank, and 
it’s been all your doing. Seeing you so particular about 
your religion, and not letting anything stop you from 
saying your prayers and reading your Bible just as you 
would at home, has made me feel dreadfully ashamed of 
myself, and Fve been wanting to have a talk with you 
about it. Would you mind reading your Bible to me ? 


104 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

I haven’t been inside a church for many a year, and I 
guess I’d be none the worse of a little Bible-reading.” 

Frank could not restrain an exclamation of delight. 
Would he mind? Had not this very thing been on his 
conscience for weeks past ? Had he not been hoping and 
praying for a good opportunity to propose it himself, and 
only kept back because of his fear lest the foreman should 
think this offer presumptuous ? 

“ I shall be very glad indeed to read my Bible to you, 
sir,” he answered, eagerly. “ I've been wanting to ask 
if I mightn’t do it, but was afraid that perhaps you would 
not like it.” 

“ Well, Frank, to be honest with you, I’d a good deal 
rather have you read to me than read it for myself,” said 
Johnston ; because you must know it ’most by heart, 
and I’ve forgotten what little I did know once.” 

The reading began that night, and thenceforward was 
never missed while the two were at Camp Kippewa. 
Young as Frank was, he had learned from his parents and 
at the Sunday-school a great deal about the Book of 
books, and especially about the life of Christ, so that to 
Johnston he seemed almost a marvel of knowledge. It 
was beautiful to see the big man’s simplicity as he sat at 
the feet, so to speak, of a mere boy, and learned anew 
from him the sublime and precious gospel truths that the 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 105 

indifference and neglect of more than forty years had 
buried in dim obscurity; and Frank found an ever- 
increasing pleasure in repeating the comments and ex- 
planations that he had heard from the dear lips at home. 
Even to his young eyes it was clear that the foreman was 
thoroughly in earnest, and would not stop short of a full 
surrender of himself to the Master he had so long refused 
to acknowledge. Above all things, he was a thorough 
man, and therefore this would take time, for he would in- 
sist upon knowing every step of the way ; but once well 
started, no power on earth or beneath would be permitted 
to bar his progress to the very end. 

And this great end was achieved before he left his 
bunk to resume his work. He lay down there bruised 
and crippled and godless; but he arose healed and 
strengthened and a new man in Christ Jesus! If 
Frank was proud of his big convert, who can blame 
him ? But for Ms coming to the camp, Johnston might 
have remained as he was, caring for none of those things 
which touched his eternal interests ; but now through 
the influence of his example, aided by favoring circum- 
stances, he had been led to the Master’s feet. 

But Damase — what of Damase? There is not much 
to tell. Whether or not he was watching when the 
bridge fell, and how he spent that night, no one ever 


106 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

knew. The next morning he was seen at the depot, 
where he explained his presence by saying that the fore- 
man had “ bounced ” him, and that he was going back 
to his native town. Beyond this, nothing further was 
ever heard of him. 


CHAPTER X. 


A HUNTING-TRIP. 


HE nold of winter had begun to relax ere Johnston 



was able to fully resume his work, and, a good deal 
of time having been lost through his accident, every effort 
had to be exerted to make it up ere the warm sunshine 
should put an end to the winter’s work. Frank was 
looking forward eagerly to the day when they should 
break camp, for, to tell the truth, he felt that he had had 
quite enough of it for one season, and he was longing 
to be back in Calumet and enjoying the comforts of 
home once more. He was not exactly homesick. You 
would have very much offended him by hinting at that. 
He was simply tired of the monotony of camp fare and 
and camp life, and anxious to return to civilization. So 
he counted the days that must pass before the order 
to break camp would come, and felt very light of heart 
when the sun shone warm and correspondingly down- 
cast when the thermometer sank below zero, as it was 
still liable to do. 

“ Striving ” was the order of the day at the lumber- 
camp — that is, the different gangs of choppers and saw- 


107 


108 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

yers and teamsters vied with each other as to which 
could chop, saw, and haul the most logs in a day. The 
amount of work they could accomplish when thus striv- 
ing might astonish Mr. Gladstone himself, from eighty 
to one hundred logs felled and trimmed being the day’s 
work of two men. Frank was deeply interested in 
this competition, and enjoying the fullest confidence of the 
men, he was unanimously appointed scorer, keeping each 
gang’s “ tally ” in a book, and reporting the results to the 
foreman, who heartily encouraged the rivalry among his 
men ; for the harder they worked the better would be 
the showing for the season, and he was anxious not to 
lose the reputation he had won of turning out more logs 
at his shanty than did any other foreman on the Kippewa. 

As the weeks passed and March gave way to April, 
and April drew toward its close, the lumbermen’s work 
grew more and more arduous, but they kept at it bravely 
until at last, near the end of April, the snow became 
so soft in the woods and the roads so bad that no more 
hauling could be done, and the whole attention of the 
camp was then given to getting the logs, that had been 
gathering at the riverside all through the winter, out 
upon the ice, so that they might be sure to be carried off 
by the spring floods. This work did not require all 
hands, and Johnston now saw the wav clear to oivino- 


THE CHOKE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 109 

Frank a treat that he had long had in mind for him, but 
had said nothing about. They were having their usual 
chat together before going to bed, when the foreman 
said : 

“ Is there any thing you would like to do before we 
break up camp ? ” 

Frank did not at first see the drift of the question, and 
looking at Johnston with a puzzled sort of expression 
replied, questioningly : 

“ I don’t know. I’ve had a very good time here.” 

Well, but can you think of any thing you would like 
to do before you go back to Calumet ? ” persisted the 
foreman. “ I’m asking you because there’ll not be enough 
work to go round next week, and you can have a bit of 
holiday. Now, isn’t there something you would like to 
have a taste of while you have the chance ? ” And as he 
spoke his eyes were directed toward the wall at the head 
of his bed, where hung his rifle, powder-flask, and hunt- 
ing knife. Frank caught his meaning at once. 

“ Oh, I see what you are driving at now ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ You want to know if I wouldn’t like to go out hunt- 
ing.” 

“ Right you are,” said Johnston. “ Would you ? ” 

“Would I?” cried Frank. “Would a duck swim? 
Just try me, that’s all.” 


110 THE CHORE- BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

“ Well, I do intend to try you,’-’ returned Johnston. 
“ The firm have some limits, over there near the foot of 
the mountain, that they want me to prospect before I go 
back, and pick out the best place for a camp. I’ve been 
trying to make out to go over there all winter, but 
getting hurt upset my plans, and I've not had a chance 
until now. So I’m thinking of making a start to-morrow. 
There’s nothing much else to do except to finish getting 
the logs on the ice, and I can trust the men to see to 
that, and, no odds what kind of weather we have, the ice 
can’t start for a week at least. So if you’d like to come 
along with me and take your rifle, you may get a chance 
to have a shot at something before we get back. Does 
that suit you ? ” 

This proposition suited Frank admirably. A week in 
the woods in Johnston’s company could not fail to be 
a week of delight, and he thanked the foreman in his 
warmest words for offering to take him on his prospecting 
tour. 

The following morning they set off, the party consisting 
of four — namely, the foreman, Frank, Laberge, who 
accompanied them as cook, and another man named 
Booth as a sort of assistant. The snow still lay deep 
enough to render snow shoes necessary, and while John- 
ston and Frank carried their rifles, Laberge and Bootli 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. Ill 

drew behind them a toboggan, upon which was packed a 
small tent and an abundant supply of provisions. Their 
route led straight into the heart of the vast and so far 
little-explored forest, and away from the river beside 
whose bank they had been living all winter. It was 
Johnston’s purpose to penetrate to the foot of the mount- 
ain range that rose into sight nearly thirty miles away, 
and then work backward by a different route, noting 
carefully the lay of the land, the course of the streams, 
and the best bunches of timber, so as to make sure of 
selecting a site for the future camp in the very best 
locality. 

He was evidently in excellent spirits himself at the 
prospect of a week’s holiday, for such it would really be, 
and, all trace of his injury having entirely disappeared, 
there was no drawback to the energy with which he led 
his little expedition into the forest where they would be 
buried for the rest of the week. 

The weather was as fine as heart could wish. All day 
the sun shone brightly, and even at night the temper- 
ature never got anywhere near zero, so that with a buffalo 
robe under you and a couple of good blankets over 
you it was possible to sleep quite comfortably in a canvas 
tent. 

“ I can’t promise you much in the way of game, 


112 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

Frank/' said Johnston, as the two tramped along side by 
side. “ It is too late in the season ; but the bears must be 
out of their dens by this time, and if we see one we’ll do 
our best to get his skin for you to take home.” 

The idea of bringing a big bear skin home as a trophy 
of his first real hunting expedition pleased Frank might- 
ily, and his eyes flashed as he grasped his rifle in a way 
that would in itself have been sufficient warning to bruin, 
could he only have seen it, to keep well out of the way 
of so doughty an assailant. 

“ I’d like immensely to have a shot at a bear, sir,” he 
replied. “ So I do hope we shall see one.” 

“ You must be precious careful, though, Frank,” said 
Johnston, “ for they’re generally in mighty bad humor at 
this time of year, and you need to get your work in 
quick, or they may make short work of you.” 

Various kinds of game were seen during the next day 
or two, and Frank had many a shot. But Johnston 
seldom fired, preferring to let Frank have all the fun, as 
he said. One afternoon just before they went into camp 
the keen eyes of Laberge detected something among 
the branches of a pine a little distance to the right of 
their path which caused his face to glow with excitement 
as he pointed eagerly to it, and exclaimed : 

“Voila! A lucifee — shoot him, quick ! ” 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. li3 

They all turned in the direction he pointed out, and 
there, sure enough, was a dark mass in the fork of the 
tree that, as they hastened toward it, resolved itself into 
a fierce-looking creature, full four times the size of 
an ordinary cat, which, instead of showing any fear at 
their approach, bristled up its back and uttered a deep, 
angry snarl that spoke volumes for its courage. 

“ Now, then, Frank,” said Johnston, “ take first shot and 
see if you can fetch the brute down.” 

Trembling with excitement, Frank threw up his rifle, 
did his best to steady himself, took aim at the bewhis- 
kered muzzle of the lynx, and pulled the trigger. The 
sharp crack of the rifle was followed by an ear-piercing 
shriek of mingled pain and rage, and the next instant 
the. wounded creature launched forth into the air toward 
the hunters. Frank’s nervousness, natural enough 
under the circumstances, had caused him to miss his 
mark a little, and the bullet, instead of piercing the 
“ lucifee’s ” brain, had only stung him sorely in the 
shoulder. 

But as quick as was his movements, Johnston was still 
quicker, and the moment its feet touched the snow, ere it 
could gather itself for another spring, his rifle cracked 
and a bullet put an end to its career. 

“ Just as well you weren’t by yourself, Frank ; hey ? ” 
H 


114 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

said he, with a smile of satisfaction at the accuracy of his 
shot. “ This chap would have been an ugly customer at 
close quarters, and,” turning the body over to find where 
the first bullet had hit, “you see you hardly winged 
him.” 

Frank blushed furiously and looked very much 
ashamed of himself for not being a better marksman, 
but the foreman cheered him up by assuring him that he 
had really done very well in hitting the animal at all 
at that distance. 

“ You only want a little practice, my boy,” said he. 
“ You have plenty of pluck ; there’s no mistake about 
that.” 

The lynx had a fine skin, which Laberge deftly 
removed, and it was given to Frank because he had fired 
the first shot at it, so that he would not go back to 
Calumet without at least one hunting trophy on the 
strength of which he might do a little boasting. 

Further and further into the forest the little party 
pierced their way, not following any direct line, but mak- 
ing detours to right and left, in order that the country 
might be thoroughly inspected. As they neared the 
mountains the trees diminished in size and the streams 
shrank until at the end of their journey the first were too 
small to pay for cutting, and the second too shallow to be 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 115 


any good for floating. With no little difficulty they as- 
cended a shoulder of the mountain range, in order to get 
a look over all the adjoining country, and then, John- 
ston having made up his mind as to the location of the 
best bunches of timber and most the convenient site for 
the projected lumber camp, the object of the expedition 
was accomplished and they were at liberty to return 
to the shanty. But before they could do this they were 
destined to have an adventure that came perilously near 
taking away from them the youngest of their number. 

It was the afternoon before they struck camp on the 
return journey. The foreman was sitting by the tent 
mending one of his snow shoes, which had been damaged 
tramping through the bush, Booth was busy cutting fir - 
wood, and Laberge making preparations for the evening 
meal. Having nothing else to do, Frank picked up 
his rifle and sauntered off toward the mountain side, 
with no very clear idea as to anything more than to kill 
a little time. Whistling cheerfully one of the many 
sacred melodies he knew and loved, he made his way 
over the snow, being soon lost to sight from the camp, 
Johnston calling after him just before he disappeared : 

“ Take care of yourself, my boy, and don’t go too far.*’ 

To which Frank responded with a smiling, “ All right, 


116 THE CHOKE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

At the distance of about a quarter of a mile from 
the camp he noticed a sort of rift in the mountain, where 
the rocks were bare and exposed, and at the end of this 
rift a dark aperture was visible, which at once attracted 
his attention. 

The boy that could come across a cave without being 
filled with a burning curiosity to take a peep in and, 
if possible, explore its interior would have to be a 
very dull fellow, and Frank certainly was not of that 
kind. This dark aperture was no doubt the mouth of a 
cave of some sort, and he determined to inspect it. When 
he got within about fifteen yards, he noticed what he had 
not seen before, that there was a well-defined track lead- 
ing from the cave to the underbrush to the right, which 
had evidently been made by some large animal, and 
with somewhat of a start Frank immediately thought 
of a bear. 

Now, of course, under the circumstances, there was but 
one thing for him to do if he wished to illustrate his 
common sense, and that was to hurry back to the tent as 
fast as possible for re-enforcements. Ordinarily, he 
would have done so at once, but this time he was still 
smarting a bit at his poor markmanship in the case 
of the “ lucifee,” and the sight of the track in the snow 
suggested the idea of winning a reputation for himself by 


THE CHOKE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 117 

killing a bear without any assistance from the others. 
It was a rash and foolish notion, but then boys will be 
boys. 

Moving forward cautiously, he approached within ten 
yards of the cave and then halted again, bringing 
his rifle forward so as to be ready to fire at a moment’s 
notice. Bending down until his eyes were on a level 
with the opening, he tried hard to peer into its depths, 
but the darkness was too deep to pierce, and he could 
not make out anything. Then he bethought him of an- 
other expedient. Picking up a lump of snow, he pressed 
it into a ball and threw it into the cave, at the same time 
shouting out : 

“ Halloo there ! Anybody inside ? ” A proceeding that 
capped the climax of his rashness and produced quite as 
sensational a result as he could possibly have desired, for 
the next moment a deep angry roar issued from the 
rocky retreat and a fiery pair of eyes gleamed out from 
its shadows. The critical moment had come, and, taking 
him a little below the shining orbs, so to make sure 
of hitting, Frank pulled the trigger. The report of the 
rifle and the roar of the bear followed close upon one 
another, awaking the echoes of the adjoining heights, 
and then came a moment’s silence, broken the next 
instant by a cry of alarm from* Frank, for the bear, 


118 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

instead of writhing in the agonies of death, was charging 
down upon him with open mouth ! Once more he had 
missed his mark and only wounded when he should have 
killed. 

There was but one thing for him to do — to flee for his 
life. And, uttering a shout of “Help! help! ” with all 
the strength of his lungs, he threw down his rifle and 
started for the tent at the top of his speed. 

It was well for him that the snow still lay deep upon 
the ground and that he was so expert in the use of 
his snow shoes, for while the bear wallowed heavily in the 
drifts he flew lightly over them, so that for a time the 
furious creature lost ground rather than gained upon 
him. For a hundred yards the boy and bear raced 
through the forest, Frank continuing his cries for help 
while he ran. Looking back for an instant, he saw that 
the bear had not yet drawn any nearer, and, terrified as 
he was, the thought flashed into his mind that if the 
brute followed him all the way to the camp he would 
soon be dispatched by the men, and then he, Frank, 
would be entitled to some credit for thus bringing him to 
execution. 

On sped the two in their race for life, the boy skim- 
ming swiftly over the soft snow, the bear plowing his way 
madly through it until more than half the distance to 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 119 


the camp had been accomplished. If Johnston had 
heard the report of the rifle and Frank’s wild cries for 
help, he should be coming into sight now, and with 
intense anxiety Frank looked ahead in hopes of seeing 
him emerge from the trees which clustered thickly in 
that direction. But there was no sign of him yet, and, 
shouting again as loudly as he could, the boy pressed 
strenuously forward. There was greater need for exer- 
tion than ever, for he had reached a spot where the snow 
was not very deep and had been firmly packed by the 
wind, so that the bear’s broad feet sank but little in it, 
and his rate of speed ominously increased. So close was 
the fierce creature coming that Frank could hear his 
paws pattering on the snow and his deep panting breath. 

Oh, why did not Johnston appear ? Surely he must 
have heard Frank’s cries. Ah, there he was, just burst- 
ing through the trees into the opening with Laberge and 
Booth close at his heels. Frank’s heart bounded with 
joy, and he was tempted to take a glance back to see how 
close the bear had got. It was not a wise thing to do, and 
he came near paying dearly for doing it, for at the same 
instant his snow shoes caught in each other, and before 
he could recover himself he fell headlong in the snow 
with the bear right upon him. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE GREAT SPRING DRIVE. 


T the sight of Frank's fall the three men gave a 



simultaneous shout of alarm that caused the bear 
to halt, for a moment, in his fierce pursuit, and lifting his 
head to look angrily in the direction from which the 
sound had come. This action saved the helpless boy — 
striving to regain his feet only a yard or two in front of 
him — from serious injury if not from death. The instant 
the creature’s broad breast was exposed, Johnston threw 
his rifle to his shoulder, and without waiting to take 
aim, but ejaculating a fervent “Help me, O God ! ” pulled 
the trigger. The report of the rifle rang out sharp and 
clear, the heavy bullet sped through the air straight to 
its mark, and with it embedded in his heart the mighty 
animal, leaving untouched the boy at his feet, made a 
mad bound across his body to reach the assailant who had 
given him his death wound. 

But it was a vain though gallant attempt. Ere he was 
half-way to the foreman, he staggered and rolled over 
upon the snow, and before he could lift himself again the 
men were upon him, and Laberge, swinging his keen ax 


120 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 121 

high in the air, brought it down with a mighty blow upon 
the brute’s slanting forehead, letting daylight into his 
brain. Not even a bear could survive such a stroke, and 
without a struggle the creature yielded up its life. In- 
stantly the foreman sprang to Frank’s side and lifted 
him upon his feet. 

“My dear boy,” he cried, his face aflame with 
anxious love, as he. clasped Frank passionately in his 
arms, “ are you hurt at all? Did he touch you? ” 

What between his previous exertions and the big man's 
mighty embrace, poor Frank had hardly enough breath 
left in him to reply, but he managed to gasp out : 

“ Not a bit. He never touched me.” 

• “ Are you quite sure now ? ” persisted Johnston, whose 
anxiety could not be at once relieved. “ Oh, my lad ! my 
heart stood still when you fell down right in front of the 
brute.” 

“ I’m quite sure, Mr. Johnston,” said Frank. “ See ! ” 
And to prove his words, he gave a jump into the air, 
threw up his arms, and shouted, “Hip! hip! hurrah!” 
with the full force of his lungs. 

£ * God be praised ! ” exclaimed the foreman. “ What a 
wonderful escape ! Let us kneel down right here, and 
give him thanks,” he added, suiting his action to his 
words. Frank at once followed his example. So too did 


122 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

Laberge and Booth, and there in the midst of the forest 
wilds, this strange praise-meeting was held over the body 
of the fierce creature from whose murderous rage Frank 
had been so happily delivered. 

Johnston sent Laberge back to the tent for the tobog- 
gan, and before darkness set in the bear was dragged 
thither, where the two men skillfully skinned him by the 
light of the camp fire, and stretched the pelt out to dry. 

The quartette had a long talk over the whole affair 
after supper had been disposed of. Frank was plied with 
questions which he took much pleasure in answering, for 
naturally enough he felt himself to be in some measure 
the hero of the occasion. While he could not help 
admiring and cordially praising Frank’s audacity, the 
foreman felt bound to reprove him for it, and to impress 
upon him the necessity of showing more caution in future, 
or he might get himself into a situation of danger from 
which there might be no one at hand to deliver him. 
Frank, by this time thoroughly sobered down, listened 
dutifully, and readily promised to be more careful if he 
ever came across bear tracks again. 

“Anyway, my boy,” said Johnston, “you won’t go 
home empty-handed; and when your mother sees those 
two skins, which are both pretty good ones, she’ll think 
more of you than she ever did before.” 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 123 

“Yes, but you know,” said Frank, “both skins oughtn’t 
to be mine, for I didn't kill either of the animals.” 

“ Neither you did, Frank,” replied Johnston, “ but you 
came mighty near killing the one, and the other came 
mighty near killing you ; so I think it’s only fair you 
should have both. Don’t you think so, mates ? ” turning 
to the men. 

“ Ah, oui,” exclaimed Laberge, with a vigorous nod of 
his head. 

“ Of course,” added Booth, no less emphatically, and so 
the matter was settled very much to Frank’s satisfaction. 

The next day the tent was packed and the little party 
set out for the shanty, which was reached in good time 
without anything eventful occurring on the way. They 
found the work of getting the logs down upon the ice 
well-nigh completed, and the foreman’s return, giving an 
impetus to the men’s exertions, it was finished in a few 
days more, and then there was nothing to do but to await 
the breaking up of the ice. 

They were not kept long in expectancy. The sun was 
now in full vigor ; before his burning rays the snow and 
ice fled in utter rout ; and the frost king, confessing defeat, 
withdrew his grasp from the Kippewa, which, as if rejoic- 
ipg in its release, went rippling and bounding merrily on 
toward the great river beyond, bearing upon its bosom 


124 THE CHOBE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

the many thousand logs which represented the hard labor 
of Camp Kippewa during the long cold winter months 
that were now past and gone. The most arduous and 
exciting phase of the lumberman’s life had begun, the 
great spring drive, as they call it, and for weeks to come 
he would be engaged playing the part of shepherd after 
a strange fashion, with huge, clumsy, unruly logs for his 
flock, and the rushing river for the highway, along which 
they should be driven. 

The shantymen were divided into two parties, one sec- 
tion taking the teams and camp-belongings back to the 
depot, the other and much larger section following the 
logs in their journey to the mills. Johnston put himself 
at the head -of the latter, and Frank, of course, accom- 
panied him, for the foreman was no less anxious to have 
him than the boy was to go. The bonds of affection that 
bound the two* were growing stronger every day they 
were together. Frank regarded Johnston as the preserver 
of his life, and Johnston, on his part, looked upon Frank 
as having been in God’s hands the means of bringing 
light and joy to his soul. It might be said, without ex- 
aggeration, that either of them would risk his life in tEe 
other’s behalf with the utmost willingness. 

The journey down the river had to be done in light 
marching order. Not much baggage could be carried so 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP K1PPEWA. 125 

as not to burthen too heavily the three or four “ bonnes” 
as they call the long, light, flat-bottomed boats, peculiar 
to lumbermen, which had been all winter awaiting the 
time when their services would be required. The shore 
work being beyond his strength, Frank was given a 
place in one of the bonnes along with Baptiste, Laberge, 
and part of the commissariat, and it was their duty to 
precede the main body of the men, and have their dinner 
and supper ready for them when they came up. In this 
way Frank would get a perfect view of the whole business 
of river driving, and he was in high feather as they made 
a start on a beautiful morning in early May, with the sun 
shining brightly, the air soft and balmy, and the river 
reflecting the blue of the unclouded heavens. 

“ How take good care of Baptiste and the grub,” said 
Johnston, with a smile, as he pushed the boat in which 
Frank was sitting off into the stream. “ If you let 
anything happen to them, Frank, I don’t know what 
we’ll do to you.” 

“ I’ll do my best, sir,” replied Frank, smiling back. 
“ The boat won’t upset if I can help it, and as Baptiste 
can’t swim, he’ll do his best to be careful too ; won’t you, 
Baptiste ? ” 

“ Vraiment, mon cher,” cried Baptiste. “ If we upset 
— poor Baptiste ! zat will be the last of him.” And he 


126 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

shrugged his fat shoulders and made a serio-comic grim- 
ace that set everybody laughing. 

If the Kippewa, through all its course, had been as 
deep and free from obstructions as it was opposite the 
lumber camp, the river drivers would have had an easy 
time of it, getting their wooden flock to market. But 
none of the rivers in this part of the country go quietly 
on their way from source to outlet. Falls and rapids are 
of frequent occurrence, and it is these which add difficulty 
and danger to the lumberman’s work. Carrying pike 
poles and cant hooks, the former being simply long tough 
ash poles with a sharp spike on the business end, and the 
latter shorter stouter poles, something like the handle of 
a shovel, with a curious curved iron attachment that took 
a firm grip of a log and enabled the worker to roll its 
lazy bulk over and over in the direction he desired, with 
these weapons taking the place of the ax and saw, the 
men set off* on their journey down the river side, two of 
the boats going ahead, and two bringing up the rear. 

F rank felt in great spirits. He was thoroughly expert 
in the management of a bonne, and the voyage down the 
river in this lovely spring weather could be only continued 
enjoyment, especially as beyond steering the boat he had 
nothing to do, and it would be practically one long holi- 
day. There were nearly twenty thousand logs to be 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


1 27 


guided, coaxed, rolled, and shoved for one hundred miles 
or more through sullen pools, sleeping reaches, turbulent 
rapids, and roaring falls, where, as if they were living 
things, they would seem to exhaust every possible means 
of delay. The way in which they would stick at some 
critical point and pile one upon another, until the whole 
river was blocked, defies description ; and one seeing the 
spectacle for the first time might well be pardoned, if he 
were to be positive that there could be no way of bringing 
order out of so hopeless a confusion, and releasing the 
tangled obstructed mass. 

For the first few days matters went very smoothly, the 
river being deep and swift and the logs giving little 
trouble. Of course, numbers of them were continually 
stranding on the banks, but the watchful drivers soon 
spied them out, and with a push of the pike pole, or drag 
of the cant hook, sent them floating off again on their 
journey. At mid-day all the men would gather about 
Baptiste’s kettles and dispose of a hearty dinner, and 
then again at night they would leave the logs to look 
after themselves while they ate their supper and talked, 
and then lay down to rest their weary bodies. But 
this condition of things was too good to last. In due 
time the difficulties began to show themselves, and then 
Frank saw the most exciting and dangerous phase of a 


128 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

lumberman’s life — a part of it with which when he grew 
older he must himself become familiar if he would be 
master of the whole business, as it was his ambition to be. 

The great army of logs, forging onward slowly or 
swiftly, according to the force of the current, would come 
to a 'point where the stream narrowed and jagged rocks 
thrust their unwelcome heads above the surface. The 
vanguard of the army, perhaps, passing either to right or 
left of the rocks, would go on its way unchecked. But 
when the main body came up, and the whole stream was 
full of dripping logs, some clumsy tree trunk going down 
broadside first would bring up short against the rock. 
As quickly as a crowd will gather in a city street, the 
other logs would cluster about the one that obstructed 
their passage. There would be no stopping the on-rush. 
In less time than it takes to describe it, a hundred logs 
would be jostling one another in the current, and every 
minute the confusion would increase, until ere long the 
disordered mass would stretch from shore to shore, the 
whole stream would be blocked up, and the event most 
dreaded by the river driver would have taken place : to 
wit, a logjam. 

The worst place that Johnston had to encounter in 
getting his drive of logs to the river was at the Black 
Rapids, and never will Frank forget the thrilling excite- 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 


129 


ment of that experience. These rapids were the terror 
of the Kippewa lumbermen. They were situated in the 
swiftest part of the river, and if Nature had in cold blood 
tried her utmost to give the despoilers of her forest a hard 
nut to crack she could scarcely have succeeded better. 
The boiling current was divided into two portions by a 
jagged spur of rock that thrust itself above the surg- 
ing waters, and so sure as a log came broadside 
against this projection it was caught and held in a firm 
embrace. v 

Johnston thoroughly understood this, and had taken 
every care to prevent a jam occurring, and if it had been 
possible for him to do what was in his mind — namely, to 
laud upon the troublesome rock, and with his pike pole 
push back again into the current every log that 
threatened to stick — the whole drive would have slipped 
safely by. He did make a gallant attempt to carry this 
out, putting four of the best oarsmen into Frank’s boat, 
and trying again and again to force his way through the 
fierce current to the rock, while Frank watched him with 
breathless interest from the bank. But, strain and tug 
as the oarsmen might, the eddying, whirling stream was 
too strong for them, and swept them past the rock again 
and again until at length the foreman had to give up his 
design as impracticable. 


130 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KTPPEWA. 

It was exciting work, and Frank longed very much to 
be in the boat, but Johnston, indulgent as he was toward 
his favorite, refused him this time. 

“ No, no, Frank ; I couldn’t think of it,” he said, de- 
cidedly. “ It’s too risky a business. The bonne might 
be smashed any time, and if it did we'd run a poor 
chance of getting out of these rapids. More than one 
good man has gone to his death here.” 

“ Have there been men killed in these rapids? ” Frank 
asked, with a look of profound concern at his big friend, 
who was taking such risks. “ The poor fellows ! What 
a dreadful death ! They must have been dashed against 
the rocks. Surely, you won’t try it again, will you ? ” 
For it was dinner time, and all hands were taking a 
welcome rest before resuming the toils of the day. 

Johnston thoroughly understood and appreciated the 
boy’s anxiety in his behalf, and there was a look of won- 
derful tenderness in his eyes as he answered him : 

“ I must try it once more, I^rank ; for if I can only get 
out to that rock there’ll be no jam this day. But don’t 
you worry. I’ve taken bigger risks and come out all 
right.” 

So he made one more attempt, while Frank watched 
every movement of the boat, praying earnestly for its 
preservation. Again he failed, and the bonne returned 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 131 

to the bank unharmed. But hardly had the weary men 
thrown themselves down for a brief spell of rest than 
what they all so dreaded happened. One of the logs, 
getting into a cross eddy, rolled broadside against the 
rock. It was caught and held fast. Another and another 
charged against it and stayed there. The main body of 
the drive was now passing down, and every moment the 
jam increased in size. Soon it would fill the whole 
stream. Yet the lumbermen were powerless to prevent 
its growth. They could do nothing until it had so 
checked the current that it would be possible to make 
a way over to its center. 

So soon as this took place Johnston, accompanied by 
three of his best men, armed with axes and cant hooks, 
leaping from log to log with the sure agility only lumber- 
men could show, succeeded in reaching the heart of the 
jam, and at once proceeded to attack it with tremendous 
energy. One log after another was detached from the 
disordered mass and sent whirling off down stream, until 
at the end of an hour’s arduous exertion the keypiece — 
that is, the log that had caused all the trouble — was 
found. 

“ Now, my boys,” said Johnston to his men, “ get 
ashore as quick as you can. I’ll stay and cut out the 
keypiece.” 


132 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

The men demurred for a moment. They were reluct- 
ant to leave their chief alone in a position of such ex- 
treme peril. But he commanded them to go. 

“ There’s only one man wanted,” he said, “ and I’ll do 
it myself. It’s no use you risking your lives too.” 

So the men obeyed, and returned to the bank to join 
the group watching Johnston’s movements with intense 
anxiety. They all knew as well as he did the exceeding 
peril of his position, and not one of them would breathe 
freely until he had accomplished his task, and found his 
way safely back to the shore. 






The Chore Boy of Camp 


Kippewa. 


Page 133. 








CHAPTER XII. 


HOME AGAIN. 

F OR so large a man the foreman showed an agility 
that was really wonderful, as he leaped from log to 
log with the swiftness and sureness of a chamois. He 
had been lumbering all his life, and there was nothing 
that fell to the lumberman’s experience with which he 
was not perfectly familiar. Yet it is doubtful if he ever 
had a more difficult or dangerous task than that before 
him now. The “keypiece” of the jam was fully ex- 
posed, and, once it was cut in two, it would no longer 
hold the accumulation of logs together. They would be 
released from their bondage, and, springing forward with 
the full force of the pent-up current, would rush madly 
down stream, carrying everything before them. 

But what would Johnston do in the midst of this tu- 
mult ? A few more moments would tell ; for his ax was 
dealing tremendous strokes before which the keypiece, 
stout though it was, must soon yield. Ah, it is almost 
severed. The foreman pauses for an instant and glances 
keenly around, evidently in order to see what will be his 

best course of action when the jam breaks. Frank, in 

133 


134 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP RIPPEWA, 

an agony of apprehension and anxiety, has sunk to his 
knees, his lips moving in earnest prayer, while his eyes 
are fixed on his beloved friend. Johnston’s quick glance 
falls upon him, and, catching the significance of his atti- 
tude, his face is irradiated with a heavenly light of love 
as he calls out, across the boiling current : 

“ God bless you, Frank ! Keep praying.” 

Then he returns to his work. The keen ax flashes 
through the air in stroke after stroke. At length there 
comes a sound that cannot be mistaken. The foreman 
throws aside his ax and prepares to jump for life ; and, 
like one man, the breathless onlookers shout together as 
the keypiece rends in two, and the huge jam, suddenly 
released, bursts away from the rock and charges tumult- 
uously down the river ! 

If ever man needed the power of prompt decision, it 
was the foreman then. To the men on shore there seemed 
no possible way of escape from the avalanche of logs ; 
and Frank shut his eyes lest he should have to witness a 
dreadful tragedy. A cry from the men caused him to 
open them again quickly ; and when he looked at the 
rock it was untenanted — Johnston had disappeared ! 
Speechless with dread, he turned to the man nearest him, 
his blanched countenance expressing the inquiry he 
could not utter. 


THE CHOEE-BOY OF CAMP HIPPEWA. 135 

“ He’s there/’ cried the man, pointing to the whirl of 
water behind the body of logs. “ He dived.” 

And so it was. Recognizing that to remain in the way 
of the jam was to court certain death, the foreman chose 
the desperate alternative of diving beneath the logs, and 
allowing them to pass over him before he rose to the sur- 
face. Great was the relief of Frank and the others 
when, amid the foaming water, Johnston’s head appeared 
and he struck out to keep himself afloat. But it was 
evident that he had little strength left, and was quite 
unable to contend with the mighty current. Good swim- 
mer as he was, the danger of drowning threatened him. 

Frank’s quick eyes noticed this, and like a flash the 
fearless boy, not stopping to call any of the others to his 
aid, bounded down the bank to where the bonne lay upon 
the shore, shoved her off into deep water, springing in 
over the bow as she slipped awav, and in another mo- 
ment was whirling down the river, crying out at the top 
of his voice : 

“ I’m coming. I’ll save you. Keep up.” 

His eager shouts reached Johnston’s ears, and the sight 
of the boat, pitching and tossing as the current swept it 
toward him, inspired him to renewed exertion. He strug- 
gled to get in the way of the boat, and succeeded so well 
that Frank, leaning over the side as far as he dared, was 


136 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP IvIPPEWA. 

able to seize his outstretched hand and hold it until he 
could grasp the gunwale himself with a grip that no cur- 
rent could loosen. A glad shout of relief went up from 
the men at sight of this, and Frank, having made sure 
that the foreman was now out of danger, seized the oars 
and began to ply them vigorously with the purpose of 
beaching the bonne at the first opportunity. They had 
to go some distance before this could be done, but John- 
ston held on firmly, and presently a projecting point 
was reached against which Frank steered the boat ; and 
the moment she was aground, he hastened to the stern 
and helped the foreman ashore, the latter having just 
strength enough left to drag himself out of the water, 
and fall in a limp, dripping heap, upon the ground. * 

“ God bless you, Frank dear,” he said, as soon as he 
recovered his breath. “ You’ve saved my life again. I 
never could have got ashore if you hadn’t come after me. 
One of the logs must have hit me on the head when I 
was diving ; for I felt so faint and dizzy when I came up 
that I thought it was all over with me. But, thank God, 
I’m a live man still ; and I’m sure it’s not for nothing 
that I’ve been spared.” 

The men all thought it a plucky act on Frank's part 
to go off alone in the boat to the foreman’s rescue, and 
showered unstinted praise upon him, all of which he took 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 137 

very quietly ; for, indeed, he felt quite sufficiently re- 
warded in that his venture was crowned with success. 
The exciting incident, of course, threw everybody out in 
their work; and when they returned to it they found that 
the logs had taken advantage of their being left uncared 
for to play all sorts of queer pranks, and run themselves 
aground in every conceivable fashion. 

But the river drivers did not mind this very much. 
The hated Black Rapids were passed, and the rest of the 
Kippewa was comparatively smooth sailing. So, with 
song and joke, they toiled away until all their charges 
were afloat again and gliding steadily onward toward 
their goal. Thenceforward they had little interruption 
in their course ; and Frank found the life wonderfully 
pleasant, drifting idly all day long in the bonne, and 
camping at night beside the river, the weather being 
bright and warm, and delightful all the time. 

So soon as the Kippewa rolled its burden of forest spoils 
out upon the broad bosom of the Ottawa, — the Grand 
River, as those who live beside its banks love to call it, — 
the work of the river drivers was over. The logs that 
had caused them so much trouble were now handed over 
to the care of a company which gathered them up into 
“ tows,” and with powerful steamers dragged them down 
the river until the sorting grounds were reached, where 


138 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

they were turned into the “ booms ” to await their time 
for execution — in other words, their sawing up. 

Frank felt really sorry when the driving was over. 
He loved the water, and would have been glad to spend 
the whole summer upon it. He was telling Johnston 
this as they were talking together on the evening of the 
last day upon the Kippewa. Johnston had been saying 
to him how glad he must be that the work was all over, 
and that they now could go over to the nearest village 
and take the stage for home. But Frank did not entirely 
agree with him. 

“ I’m not anxious to go home by stage,” said he. “ I’d 
a good deal rather stick to the river. I think it’s just 
splendid, so long as the weather’s fine.” 

“ Why, what a water dog you are, Frank ! ” said the 
foreman, laughing. “ One would think you’d have had 
enough of the water by this time.” 

“Not a bit of it,” said Frank, returning the smile. 
“ The woods in winter, and the water in summer — that’s 
what I enjoy.” 

“ Well, but aren’t you in a hurry to get home and see 
your mother again ? ” queried Johnston. 

“Of course I am,” answered Frank. “But, you see, 
a day or two won’t make much difference, for she doesn’t 
know just when to look for me; and I’ve never been 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 139 

on this part of the Ottawa, and want to see it ever so 
much.” 

“Well — let me see,” reflected Johnston. “How can 
we manage it? You’d soon get sick of the steamers. 
They’re mortal slow and very dirty. Besides, they don’t 
encourage passengers, or they’d have too many of them. 
But hold on ! ” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with a 
new idea. “ I’ve got it. How would you like to finish 
the rest of the trip home on a square timber raft ? There'll 
be one passing any day, and I know ’most all the men 
in the business ; so there’ll be no difficulty about getting 
a passage.” 

“The very idea!” cried Frank, jumping up and 
bringing his hand down upon his thigh with a resounding 
slap. “ Nothing would please me better. Oh, what fun 
it will be shooting the slides ! ” And he danced about 
in delight at the prospect. 

“ All right, then, my lad,” said Johnston, smiling at 
the boy’s exuberance. “ We’ll just wait here until a raft 
comes along, and then we’ll board her and ask the fel- 
lows to let us go down with them. They won’t refuse.” 

They had not long to wait ; for the very next day a huge 
raft hove in sight — a real floating island of mighty tim- 
bers — and, on going out to it, in the bonne, Johnston was 
glad to find that the foreman in charge was an old friend 


140 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

who would be heartily pleased at having his company 
for the rest of the voyage. So he and Frank brought 
their scanty baggage on board and joined themselves to 
the crew of men that, with the aid of a towing steamer, 
were navigating this very strange kind of craft down the 
river. 

This was an altogether novel experience for Frank, 
and he found it much to his liking. The raft was an 
immense one. 

“ As fine a lot of square timber as I ever took down,” 
said its captain, proudly. “It’s worth forty thousand 
dollars, if it’s worth a cent.” 

Forty thousand dollars 1 Frank’s eyes opened wide at 
the mention of this vast sum, and he wondered to him- 
self if he should ever be the owner of such a valuable 
piece of property. Although he had begun as a chore- 
boy, his ambition was by no means limited to his becom- 
ing in due time a foreman like Johnston, or even an 
overseer like Alec Stewart. He allowed his imagination 
to carry him forward to a day of still greater things, 
when he should be his own master, and have foremen 
and overseers under him. This slow sailing down the 
river was very favorable to day dreaming, and Frank 
could indulge himself to his heart’s content during the 
long lovely spring days. There were more than two- 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 141 

score men upon the raft, the majority of them habitants 
and half-breeds, and they were as full of songs as robins ; 
especially in the evening, after supper, when they would 
gather about the great fire, always burning on its clay 
bed in the centre of the raft, and with solo and chorus 
awake the echoes of the placid river. 

In common with the rivers which pour into it, the 
Ottawa is broken by many falls and rapids, and to have 
attempted to run the huge raft over one of these would 
have insured its complete destruction. But this difficulty 
is duly provided for. At one side of the fall a “ slide ” 
is built — that is, a contrivance something like a canal, 
with sides and bottom of heavy timber, and having a 
steep slope down which the water rushes in frantic haste 
to the level below. Now the raft is not put together in 
one piece, but is made up of a number of “ cribs ” — a 
crib being a small raft containing fifteen to twentv tim- 
bers, and being about twenty-four feet wide by thirty feet 
in length. At the head of the slide the big raft is sepa- 
rated into the cribs, and these cribs make the descent 
one at a time, each having three or four men on board. 

Shooting the slides, as it is called, is a most delightful 
amusement to people whose nerves don’t bother them. 
Frank had heard so much about it that he was looking 
forward to it from the time he boarded the raft, and now 


142 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KTPPEWA. 

at Des Joachim Falls he was to have the realization. He 
went down in one of the first cribs, and this is the way 
he described the experience to his mother : 

“ But, mother, the best fun of the whole thing is shoot- 
ing the slides. I just wish there was a slide near Calumet, 
so that I could take you down and let you see how 
splendid it is. Why, it’s just like — let me see — I’ve got 
it! It’s just like tobogganing on water. You jump on 
board the crib at the mouth of the slide, you know, and 
it moves along very slow at first — until it gets to the 
edge of the first slant ; then it takes a sudden start and 
away it goes scooting down like greased lightning, making 
the water fly up all around you, just like the snow does 
when you’re tobogganing. Oh, but if it isn’t grand ! The 
timbers of the crib rub against the bottom of the slide 
and groan and creak as if it hurt them ; and then, be- 
sides coming in over the bow, the water spurts up between 
the timbers, so that you have to look spry or you’re 
bound to get soaking wet. I got drenched nearly every 
time ; but that didn’t matter, for the sun soon made me 
dry again, and it was too good fun to mind a little 
wetting.” 

Frank felt quite sorry when the last of the slides was 
passed, and wished there were twice as many on the route 
of the raft. But presently he had something else to 


THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 143 

occupy his thoughts, for each day brought him nearer to 
Calumet, and soon his journeyings by land and water 
would be ended, and he would be at home again to make 
his mother's heart glad. 

It was the perfection of a spring day when the raft, 
moving in its leisurely fashion — for was not the whole 
summer before it ? — reached Calumet, and Mrs. Kingston, 
sitting alone in her cottage, and wondering when her boy 
would make his appearance, was surprised by an uncere- 
monious opening of the front door, a quick step in the hall, 
and a sudden enfolding by two stout arms, while a voice 
that she had not heard for months shouted in joyous 
accents : 

“ Here I am, mother darling, safe and sound, right side 
up with care, and oh, so glad to be at home again ! ” 

Mrs. Kingston returned the fond embrace with interest, 
and then held Frank off at arms’-length to see how much 
he had changed during his six months’ absence. She 
found him both taller and stouter, and with his face well 
browned by the exposure to the bright spring sunshine. 

“ You went away a boy, and you’ve come back almost 
a man, Frank,'’ she said, her eyes brimming with tears 
of joy “ But you’re my own boy the same as ever ; aren’t 
you, darling ? ” 

It was many a day before Frank reached the end of 


144 THE CHORE-BOY OF CAMP KIPPEWA. 

his story of life at the lumber camp, for Mrs. Kingston 
never wearied of hearing all about it. When she learned 
of his different escapes from danger, the inclination of 
her heart was to beseech him to be content with one winter 
in the woods, and to take up some other occupation. But 
she wisely said nothing, for their could be no doubt as to 
the direction in which Frank’s heart inclined, and she 
determined not to interfere. 

When in the following autumn Frank went back to 
the forest, he was again under Johnston’s command, but 
not as chore-boy. He was appointed clerk and checker, 
with liberty to do as much chopping or other work as he 
pleased. Whatever his duty was he did it, with all his 
might, doing it heartily as to the Lord, and not unto men, 
so that he found increasing favor in his employer’s eyes, 
rising steadily higher and higher until, while still a young 
man, he was admitted into partnership and had the sweet 
satisfaction of realizing the day dreams of that first trip 
down the Ottawa on a timber raft. 

Yet he never forgot what he had learned when chore- 
boy of Camp Kippewa, and out of that experience grew 
a practical philanthropic interest in the well-being and 
advancement of his employees, that made him the most 
popular and respected “lumber-king ” on the river. 


THE END. 


the; 


Wreckers of Sable Island. 



J. MACDONALD OXLEY. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 
1420 Chestnut Street. 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, by the 
AMERICAN BAPTIST PUBLICATION SOCIETY, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




The author desires to express his acknowledgments to the Santa Claus 
Publishing Company for kind permission to reprint “The Wreckers of Sable 
Island,” which first appeared as a serial in the pages of their periodical. 

J. MACDONALD OXLEY. 

Marine Department, Ottawa, Canada. 


f 

* 

CONTENTS. 


PAGK 

CHAPTER I. 

The Setting Forth, 5 

CHAPTER II. 

In Rough Weather, 16 

CHAPTER III. 

The Wreck, . . . . ' 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

Alone Among Strangers, 34 

CHAPTER V. 

Eric Looks Around Him, 47 

CHAPTER VI. 

Ben Harden, 57 


3 


4 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER VII. 

A Sable Island Winter, 67 

CHAPTER VHI. 

Anxious Times, 78 

CHAPTER IX. 

Farewell to Sable Island, 90 

CHAPTER X. 

Release and Retribution, 101 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


CHAPTER I. 


THE SETTING FORTH. 



VOYAGE across the Atlantic Ocean in the year 


1799 was not the every-day affair that it has come 
to be in the year 1889. There were no “ocean grey- 
hounds ” then. The passage was a long and trying one 
in the clumsy craft of those days, and people looked upon 
it as a more serious affair than they now do on a tour 
around the world. 

In the year 1799 few people thought of traveling for 
mere pleasure. North, South, East, and West, the men 
went on missions of discovery, of conquest, or of com- 
merce ; but the women or children abode at home, save, 
of course, when they ventured out to seek new homes in 
that new world which was drawing so many to its shores. 

It was, therefore, not to be wondered at that the notion 
of Eric Copeland going out to his father in far-away Nova 
Scotia should form the subject of more than one family 


5 


6 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


council at Okadene Manor, the beautiful country-seat of 
the Copeland family, situated in one of the prettiest parts 
of Warwickshire, England. 

Eric was the only son of Doctor Copeland, surgeon-in- 
chief of the Seventh Fusiliers, the favorite regiment of 
the Duke of Kent, the father of the present Queen of 
England. This regiment formed part of the garrison at 
Halifax, then under the command of the Royal Duke 
himself, and the doctor had written to say that if the 
squire, Eric’s grandfather, approved, he would like Eric 
to come out to him, as his term of service had been ex- 
tended three years beyond what he expected, and he 
wanted to have his boy with him. At the same time, he 
left the matter entirely in the squire’s hands for him to 
decide. 

So far as the old gentleman was concerned, he decided 
at once. 

“ Send the boy out there to that wild place, and have 
him scalped by an Indian, or gobbled by a bear before 
he’s there a month ? Not a bit of it. I won’t hear of it. 
He’s a hundred times better off here.” 

The squire, be it observed, held very vague notions 
about Nova Scotia, and indeed the American continent 
generally, in spite of his son’s endeavors to enlighten 
him. He still firmly believed that there were as many 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


7 


wigwams as houses in New York, and that Indians in 
full war-paint and plumes were every day seen on the 
streets of Philadelphia ; while as for poor little Nova 
Scotia, it was more than his mind could take in how the 
Duke of Kent could ever bring himself to spend a week 
in such an outlandish place, not to speak of a number of 
years. 

So soon as Eric learned of his father’s request, he was 
not less quick in coming to a conclusion, but it was of a 
precisely opposite kind to the squire’s. He was what the 
Irish would call “ a broth of a boy.” Fifteen last birth- 
day, five feet six inches in height, broad of shoulder and 
stout of limb, yet perfectly proportioned, as nimble on his 
feet as a squirrel, and as quick of eye as a king-bird, 
entirely free from any trace of nervousness or timidity, 
good-looking in that sense of the word which means more 
than merely handsome, courteous in his manners, and 
quite up to the mark in his books, Eric represented the 
best type of British boy as he looked about him with his 
brave brown eyes, and longed to be something more than 
simply a school-boy, and to see a little of that great world 
up and down which his father had been traveling ever 
since he could remember. 

“ Of course I want to go to father,” said he, promptly 
and decidedly. “ I don’t believe there are any bears or 


8 


THE WHECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


Indians at Halifax ; and even if there should be, I don’t 
care. I’m not afraid of them.” 

He had not the look of a boy that could be easily 
frightened, or turned aside from anything upon which he 
had set his heart, and the old squire felt as though he 
were seeing a youthful reflection of himself in the sturdy 
spirit of resolution shown by his grandson. 

“ But, Eric, lad,” he began to argue, “ whether the 
Indians and bears are plentiful or not, I don’t see why 
you want to leave Oakdene, and go away out to a wild 
place that is only fit for soldiers. Ypu’re quite happy 
with us here, aren’t you?” And the old gentleman’s 
face took on rather a reproachful expression as he put 
the question. 

Eric’s face flushed crimson, and crossing over to where 
the squire sat, he bent down and kissed his wrinkled 
forehead tenderly. 

“ I am quitq happy, grandpa. You and grandma do 
so much for me that it would be strange if I wasn’t ; but 
you know I have been more with you than I have with 
my own father, and now when he wants me to go out to 
him, I want to go too. You can’t blame me, can you ? ” 

What Eric said was true enough. The doctor’s regi- 
ment had somehow come on for more than its share of 
foreign service. It had carried its colors with credit over 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


9 


the burning plains of India, upon the battle-fields of the 
Continent, and then, crossing to America, had taken its 
part, however ineffectually, in the struggle which ended 
so happily in the birth of a new nation. During all 
of his years Eric had remained at Oakdene, seeing 
nothing of his father, save when he came to them on 
leave for a few months at a time. 

These home-comings of the doctor were the great 
events in Eric’s life. Nothing was allowed to interfere 
with his enjoyment of his father’s society. All studies 
were laid aside, and one day of happiness followed 
another, as together they rode to hounds, whipped the 
trout-streams, shot over the coverts where pheasants were 
in plenty, or went on delightful excursions to lovely 
places round about the neighborhood. 

Dr. Copeland enjoyed his release from the routine of 
military duty quite as much as Eric did his freedom from 
school, and it would not have been easy to say which of 
the two went in more heartily for a good time. 

It was just a year since the doctor had last been home 
on leave, and a year seems a very long time to a boy of 
fifteen, so that when the letter came proposing that Eric 
should go out to his father (it should have been told be- 
fore that his mother was dead, having been taken away 
from him when he was a very little fellow), and spend 


10 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


three long years with him without a break, if the doctor 
had been in Kamtchatka or Terra del Fuego instead of 
simply in Nova Scotia, Eric would not have hesitated a 
moment, but have jumped at the offer. 

The old squire was very loth to part with his grandson, 
and it was because he knew it would be so that the 
doctor had not positively asked for Eric to be sent out, 
but had left the question to be decided by the squire. 

Perhaps Eric might have failed to carry his point but 
for the help given him by Major Maunsell, a brother- 
officer of Doctor Copeland’s, who had been home on 
leave, and in whose charge Eric was to be placed if it 
was decided to let him go. 

The major had come to spend a day or two at Oak- 
dene a little while before taking his leave of England, 
and of course the question of Eric’s returning to Nova 
Scotia with him came up for discussion. Eric pleaded 
his case very earnestly : 

“ Now please listen to me a moment,” said he, 
taking advantage of a pause in the conversation. “I 
love you, grandpa and grandma, very dearly, and am 
very happy with you here, but I love my father too, 
and I never see him, except just for a little while, 
when he comes home on leave, and it would be lovely 
to be with him all the time for three whole vears. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


11 


Besides that, I do want to see America, and this is such 
a good chance ! I am nearly sixteen, now, and by the 
time father gets back I’ll have to be going to college, and 
then, you know, he says he’s going to leave the army and 
settle down here, so that dear knofas when I can ever 
get the chance to go again. Oh! please let me go, 
grandpa, won’t you ? ” 

Major Maunseli’s . eyes glistened as he looked at Eric 
and listened to him. He was an old bachelor himself, 
and he could not help envying Doctor Copeland for his 
handsome, manly son. At once he entered into full sym- 
pathy with him in his great desire, and determined to use 
all his influence in supporting him. 

“ There’s a great deal of sense in what the boy says,” 
he remarked. “ It is such a chance as he may not get 
again in a hurry. There’s nothing to harm him out in 
Halifax, and his father is longing to have him, for he’s 
always talking to me about him, and reading me bits out 
of his letters.” 

So the end of it was that the major and Eric between 
them won the day, and after taking the night to think 
over it, the good old squire announced the next morning 
at breakfast that he would make no further objections, 
and that Eric might go. 

The troop-ship, on which Major Maunsell was going, 


12 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


would sail in a week, so there was no time to be lost in 
getting Eric ready for the voyage, and for the long 
sojourn in the distant colony. Many were the trunks of 
clothing, books, and other things that had to be packed 
with greatest care, and their number would have been 
doubled if the major had not protested against taking the 
jams, jellies, pickles, medicines, and other domestic com- 
forts that the loving old couple wanted Eric to take with 
him, because they felt sure he could get nothing so good 
out in Halifax. 

All too quickly for them the day came when they were 
to say “ Good-bye ” to their grandson, and the parting 
was a very tearful and trying one. Full of joy as Eric 
felt, he could not keep back the tears when his white- 
haired grandmother hugged him again and again to her 
heart, exclaiming fervently : 

“ God bless and keep my bov ! May his Almighty 
arms be underneath and round about you, my darling. 
Put your trust in him, Eric, no matter what may 
happen.” 

And the bluff old squire himself was suspiciously moist 
about the eyes as the carriage drove away, and Eric was 
really off to Chatham in charge of Major Maunsell, with 
whom he had by this time got to be on the best of terms. 

At Chatham they found their ship in the final stage of 


13 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

preparation for the voyage. They were to sail in the 
“ Francis,” — a fine, fast gun-brig of about three hundred 
tons, — which had in her hold a very valuable cargo, con- 
sisting of the Duke of Kent’s library, together with a 
quantity of very costly furniture, precious wines and 
other luxuries intended to make as comfortable as 
possible the lot of his royal highness in the garrison at 
Halifax. The major and Eric were assigned a roomy 
cabin to themselves, in which they at once proceeded to 
make themselves at home. 

During the few days that intervened before the sailing 
of the “ Francis,” Eric’s enjoyment of the novel scenes 
around him could hardly be put into words. All he 
knew about the sea was what he had learned from a 
summer now and then at a watering-place and the great 
gathering of big ships at Chatham ; the unceasing bustle 
as some came in from long voyages, and others went forth 
to take their places upon distant stations ; the countless 
sailors and dock hands swarming like ants hither and 
thither ; the important-looking officers strutting about in 
gold-laced coats, and calling out their commands in such 
hoarse tones that Eric felt tempted to ask if they all had 
very bad colds; the shrill sound of the boatswains’ 
whistles that seemed to have no particular meaning ; the 
martial music of bands playing, apparently for no other 


li THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

reason than just because they wanted to — all this made 
up a wonder- world for Eric, in which he found a great 
deal of delight. 

There was just one cloud upon his happiness. Among 
his many pets at Oakdene his special favorite was a 
splendid mastiff that the squire had given him as a birth- 
day present two years before. Prince was a superb 
animal, and devoted to his young master. No sooner had 
it been settled that Eric should go out to his father than 
the boy at once asked if his dog might not go with him. 
Major Maunsell had no objection himself, but feared that 
the captain of the “ Francis ” would not hear of it. How- 
ever, he thought that Eric might bring the dog up to 
Chatham, and then if the captain would not let him on 
board he could be sent back to Oakdene. 

Prince accordingly accompanied him, and a place hav- 
ing been found for him with a friend of the major’s, his 
master had no peace of mind until the question was 
settled. Some days passed before he got a chance to see 
Captain Reefwell, who was, of course, extremely busy, 
but at last he managed to catch him one day, just after 
lunch, when he seemed in a pretty good humor, and, 
without wasting time, preferred his request, trembling 
with eager hope as he did so. The gruff old sailor at 
first bluntly refused him, but Eric, bravely returning to 





The Wreckers of Sable Island. 









































































THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


15 


the charge, his kind heart was moved to the extent of 
making him say : 

“Well, let me have a look at your dog, anyway.” 

Hoping for the best, Eric ran off and returned with 
Prince. Captain Reefwell scanmed the noble animal 
critically, and stretched out his hand to pat him, where- 
upon the mastiff gravely lifted his right paw, and placed 
it in the captain’s horny palm. 

“ Shiver my timbers ! but the dog’s got good manners,” 
said the captain in surprise. “ Did you teach him that ? ” 
turning to Eric. 

“Yes, sir,” replied Eric, proudly, “and he can do 
other things too.” And he proceeded to put the big dog 
through a number of tricks, which pleased the old sailor 
so much that finally he said, with a smile : 

“All right, my lad. You may bring your dog on 
board. But, mind you, he comes before the mast. He’s 
not a cabin passenger.” 

“ Oh, thank you, sir ! thank you, sir ! ” cried Eric, joy- 
fully. “I won't let you in the cabin, will I, Prince? 
Isn’t it splendid? You’re to come with me, after all.” 
And he hugged the mastiff as though he had been his 
own brother. 


CHAPTER II. 


IN ROUGH WEATHER. 

TT was the first of November when the “ Francis ” got 
off, and Captain Reefwell warned his passengers that 
they might expect a rather rough voyage, as they were 
sure to have a storm or two in crossing at that time of 
year. Eric protested that he would not mind. He was 
not afraid of a storm. Indeed, he wanted to see one 
really good storm at sea, such as he had often read about. 

But he changed his tune when the “ Francis ” began to 
pitch and toss in the chops of the English Channel, and 
with pale face and piteous voice he asked the major “ if 
a real storm were worse than this.” A few days later, 
however, when he got his sea-legs all right, and the 
“ Francis ” was bowling merrily over the broad Atlantic 
before a favoring breeze, his courage came back to him, 
and he felt ready for anything. 

The “Francis” was not more than a week out before 
the captain’s prediction began to be fulfilled. One storm 
succeeded another with but little rest between, the wind 
blowing from all quarters in turn. Driven hither and 

thither before it, the “ Francis ” struggled gallantly 
16 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


17 


toward her destination. So long as he was out in mid- 
Atlantic, Captain Reefwell seemed quite indifferent to the 
boisterous weather. He told his passengers that he was 
sorry for the many discomforts they were forced to endure, 
but otherwise showed no concern. He was a daring 
sailor, and had crossed the ocean a score of times before. 
As they approached the American side, however, and the 
storm still continued, he grew very anxious, as his 
troubled countenance and moody manner plainly showed. 
The truth was that he had been driven out of his course, 
and had lost his reckoning, owing to sun and stars alike 
having been invisible for so many days. He had no clear 
idea of his distance from the coast, and unless he could 
soon secure a satisfactory observation the Francis ” 
would be in a perilous plight. 

The first of December was marked by a storm more 
violent than any which had come before, followed by a 
dense fog which swathed the ship in appalling gloom. 
The captain evidently regarded this fog as a very grave 
addition to his difficulties. He hardly left the quarter- 
deck, and his face grew haggard and his eyes bloodshot 
with being constantly on the lookout. 

Realizing that a crisis was at hand, and determined to 

know the worst, Major Maunsell made bold to ask the 

captain to tell him the real state of affairs. Captain 

B 


18 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


Reefwell hesitated for a moment, then muttering some- 
thing about “ might as well out with it,” he laid his hand 
upon the major’s shoulder, and looking straight into his 
eyes, with a strange expression of sympathy, said in his 
gravest tones : 

“ Major, it’s just this : Unless I’m clean lost we must 
now be somewhere near Sable Island. I’m expecting to 
hear the roar of its breakers any minute, and once the 
Francis ’ gets amongst them, God help us all ! Sable 
Island makes sure work.” And he turned away abruptly 
as though to hide his feelings. 

Captain Reefwell’s words sent a shudder straight and 
swift through Major Maunsell’s heart. The latter already 
knew of the bad reputation of that strange island which 
scarcely lifts itself above the level of the Atlantic less 
than a hundred miles due east from Nova Scotia. Stories 
that chilled the blood had from time to time floated up 
to Halifax — stories of shipwreck following fast upon 
shipwreck, and no one surviving to tell the tale. 

But even more appalling than the fury of the storm 
that scourged the lonely island were the deeds, said to be 
done by monsters in human guise, who plied the wrecker’s 
trade there, and acting upon the principle that dead men 
tell no tales, had made it their care to put out of the way 
all whom even the cruel billows had spared. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


19 


With a heavy heart the major made his way back to 
the cabin, where he found Eric, upon whose bright spirits 
the long and stormy voyage had told heavily, looking 
very unhappy as he tried to amuse himself with a book. 
The boy was worn out by the ceaseless pitching and toss- 
ing of the vessel. He felt both home-sick and sea-sick, 
as indeed did many another of the passengers, who with 
one accord were wishing themselves safely upon land 
again. He looked up eagerly as the major entered. 

“What does the captain say, major?” he asked, his 
big brown eyes open their widest. “ Will the storm soon 
be over, and are we near Halifax? ” 

Concealing his true feelings, the major replied with 
well-put-on cheerfulness : 

“ The captain says that if this fog would only lift, and 
let him find out exactly where we are, Eric, he would be 
all right. There is nothing to do but to wait, and hope 
for the best.” And sitting down beside Eric, he threw 
his arm about him in a tender, protecting way, that 
showed how strongly he felt. 

So intense was the anxiety on board the “ Francis,” 
that none of the passengers thought of going to their berths 
or taking off their clothes that night; but all gathered 
in the cabins, finding what cheer and comfort they could 
in one another’s company. 


20 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


In the main cabin were other officers besides Major 
Maunsell, namely, Captain Sterling of the Fusiliers, 
Lieutenant Mercer of the Royal Artillery, and Lieut- 
enants Sutton, Roebuck, and Moore, of the 16th Light 
Dragoons ; while in the fore-cabin were household servants 
of the Prince, and soldiers of the line, bringing the total 
number of passengers up to two hundred. 

During the night Captain Reefwell, seeing that it was 
no longer any use to conceal the seriousness of the situa- 
tion, sent word to all on board to prepare for the worst, 
as the ship might be among the breakers at any moment. 
The poor passengers hastened to gather their most precious 
possessions into little bundles, and to prepare themselves 
for the approaching struggle with death. 

The night wore slowly on, the sturdy brig straining and 
groaning, as the billows made a plaything of her, tossing 
her to and fro as though she was no heavier than a chip, 
while the fierce storm shrieked through the rigging in 
apparent glee at having so rich a prize for the wreckers 
of Sable Island. 

It was a brave band that awaited its fate in the 
main cabin. The men were borne up by the dauntless 
fortitude of the British soldiers ; and catching their 
spirit, Eric manifested a quiet courage well worthy of the 
name he bore. He had Prince with him now, for the 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 21 

captain had himself suggested that he had better have 
the dog near at hand. The noble creature seemed to 
have some glimmering of their common peril, for he kept 
very close to his young master, and every now and then 
laid his huge head upon Eric’s knee, and looked up into 
his face with an expression that said as plainly as words : 

“ Nothing but death can ever part us. You can depend 
upon me to the very uttermost.” 

And hugging him, fondly, Eric answered : 

“ Dear old Prince. You’ll help me if we are wrecked, 
won’t you? ” at which Prince wagged his tail responsively 
and did his best to lick his master’s face. 

Now and then some one would creep up on deck, and 
brave the fury of the blast for a few moments, in hope of 
finding some sign of change for the better, and on his 
return to the cabin the others would eagerly scan his 
countenance, and await his words, only to be met with' a 
sorrowful shake of the head that rendered words 
unnecessary. 

Eric alone found temporary forgetfulness in sleep. He 
was very weary, and though fully alive to the danger so 
near at hand, could not keep from falling into a fitful 
slumber, as he lay upon the cushioned seat that encircled 
the cabin ; Prince stationing himself at his side, and pil- 
lowing his head in his lap. 


22 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAKD. 


Poor Prince was by no means so handsome a creature 
now as when his good looks and good manners won the 
captain’s heart. The long stormy passage had been very 
hard upon him. He had grown gaunt, and his smooth 
shiny skin had become rough and unkempt. Otherwise, 
however, he was not much the worse, and was quite ready 
for active duty if his services should be needed. 

Awaking from a light sleep, in which he dreamed that 
he and Prince were having a glorious romp on the lawn 
at Oakdene, which somehow seemed to be undulating in 
a very curious fashion, Eric caught sight of Major Maun- 
sell returning to the cabin after a visit to the upper deck, 
and at once ran up to him, and plied him with eager 
questions : 

“ Is the storm getting any better, and will it soon be 
daylight again?” 

The major did his best to look cheerful as he 
answered : 

“ Well, the storm is no worse, Eric, at all events, and 
it will not be long before daylight comes.” 

“ But even if we should be wrecked,” said Eric, looking 
pleadingly into the major’s face, “we might all get ashore 
all right, mightn’t we ? I’ve often read of shipwrecks in 
which everybody was saved.” 

“Certainly, my boy, certainly,” replied the major, 


THE WRECKERS OF .SABLE ISLAND. 


23 


promptly, although deep down in his heart he seemed to 
hear Captain Reefwell’s ominous words : “ Sable Island 
makes sure work.” 

“ And, major,” continued Eric, “ I’m going to keep 
tight hold of Prince’s collar if we do get wrecked. He 
can swim ever so much better than I can, and he’ll pull 
me ashore, all right, won’t he ? ” 

“ That’s a capital idea of yours, my boy,” said the 
major, smiling tenderly upon him. “ Keep tight hold of 
Prince by all means. You couldn’t have a better life- 
preserver.” 

“ I don’t want to be wrecked, that’s certain ; but if we 
are, I’m very glad I’ve got Prince here to help me — the 
dear old fellow that he is ! ” And so saying, Eric threw 
himself down upon his dog, and gave him a hearty hug, 
which the mastiff evidently much enjoyed. 

Day broke at last, if the slow changing of the thick 
darkness into a dense gray fog could rightly be called 
daybreak 

The “ Francis ” still bravely battled with the tempest. 
She had proven herself a trusty ship, and with Captain 
Reefwell on the quarter-deck, more than a match for the 
worst fury of wind and wave. 

But no ship that ever has been, or ever will be built 
could possibly pass through the ordeal of the Sable Island 


24 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


breakers, whose awful thunder might, at any moment, be 
heard above the howling of the blast. 

At breakfast time the worn and weary passengers 
gathered around the table for what would, in all proba- 
bility, be the last meal on board the “ Francis,” and 
perhaps their last on earth. The fare was not very 
tempting; for what could the cooks do under such cir- 
cumstances? But the passengers felt no disposition to 
complain. Indeed, they had little appetite to eat, and 
were only making a pretence of doing so, when a sailor 
burst into the cabin, his bronzed face blanched with fear, 
as he shouted, breathlessly : 

“ Captain says for all to come up on deck. The ship 
will strike in a minute.” 

Instantly there was wild confusion and a mad rush for 
the companion-way ; but Major Maunsell waited to take 
Eric’s hand tightly into his before pressing on with the 
others. When they reached the deck, an awful scene 
met their eyes. The fog had lifted considerably, so that 
it was possible to see some distance from the ship ; and 
there right across her bows, not more than a quarter of a 
mile away, a tremendous line of breakers stretched as 
far as eye could see. 

Straight into their midst the “ Francis” was helplessly 
driving at the bidding of the storm-fiend. No possible 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


25 


way of escape ! Not only did the breakers extend to 
right and left until they were lost in the shifting fog, but 
the nearest line was evidently only an advance' guard ; 
for beyond it other lines, not less formidable, could be 
dimly descried, rearing their snowy crests of foam as they 
rolled fiercely onward. 

“ Heaven help us ! ” cried Major Maunsell, as with one 
swift glance he took, in the whole situation ; and drawing 
Eric close to him, he made his way through the confusion 
to the foot of the main-mast, which offered a secure hold 
for the time being. 

A few minutes later the “ Francis ” struck the first bar 
with a shock that sent everybody who had not something 
to hold on to tumbling upon the deck. But for the 
major’s forethought, both he and Eric might at that 
moment have been borne off into the boiling surges ; 
for a tremendous billow rushed upon the helpless vessel, 
sweeping her from stem to stern, and carrying away a 
number of the soldiers, who having nothing to hold on 
by, were picked up like mere chips of wood, and hurried 
to their doom. Their wild cries for the help that could 
not be given them pierced the ears of the others, who 
did not know but that the next billow would treat them 
in like maimer. 

Again and again was the ill-starred ship thus swept bv 


26 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


the billows, each time fresh victims falling to their fell 
fury. Then came a wave of surpassing size, which lifting 
the “ Francis ” as though she had been a mere feather, 
bore her over the bar into the deeper water beyond. 
Here, after threatening to go over upon her beam ends, 
she righted once more, and drove on toward the next 
bar. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE WRECK. 

M AJOR MAUNSELL gave a great gasp of relief 
when the brig righted. 

“ Keep tight hold of your rope, Eric,” he cried, en- 
couragingly. “ Please God, we may reach shore alive 
yet” 

Drenched to the skin, and shivering with cold, Eric 
held tightly on to the rope with his right hand, and to 
Prince’s collar with his left. Prince had crouched close 
to the foot of the mast, and the waves swept by him as 
though he had been carved in stone. 

“ All right, sir,” Eric replied, as bravely as he could. 
(i It’s pretty hard work ; but I’ll not let go.” 

Rearing and plunging amid the froth and foam, the 
“ Francis ” charged at the second bar, struck full upon it 
with a force that would have crushed in the bow of a less 
sturdy craft, hung there for a few minutes while the 
breakers, as if greedy for their prey, swept exultantly 
over her, and then, responding to the impulse of another 
towering wave, leaped over the bar into the deeper water 
beyond. 


27 


28 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


But she could not stand much more of such buffeting ; 
for she was fast becoming a mere hulk. Both masts had 
gone by the board at the last shock, and poor little Eric 
certainly would have gone overboard with the main-mast 
but for his prompt rescue by the major from the entang- 
ling rigging. 

“ You had a narrow escape that time, Eric,” said the 
major, as he dragged the boy round to the other side of 
the mast, where he was in less danger. 

The passage over the bars having thus been effected, 
the few who were still left on board the “ Francis” be- 
gan to cherish hopes of yet reaching the shore alive. 

Between the bars and the main body of the island w r as 
a heavy cross-sea, in which the brig pitched and tossed 
like a bit of cork. Somewhere beyond this wild confu- 
j sion of waters was the surf which broke upon the beach 
itself, and in that surf the final struggle would take 
place. Whether or not a single one of the staked, 
shivering beings clinging to the deck v r ould survive it, 
God alone knew. The chances of their escape w T ere as 
one in a thousand — and yet they hoped. 

There were not many left now. Captain Sterling was 
gone, and Lieutenants Mercer and Sutton. Besides the 
Major and Eric, only Lieutenants Roebuck and Moore, 
of the cabin passengers, were still to be seen. Of the 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 29 

soldiers and crew, almost all had been swept away : but 
Captain Reefwell still held to his post upon the quarter- 
deck by keeping tight hold to a belaying-pin. 

The distance between the bars and the beach was soon 
crossed, and the long line of foaming billows became dis- 
tinct through the driving mist. 

“ Don’t lose your grip on Prince, my boy,” called the 

major to Eric. “ We’ll strike in a second, and then ” 

But before he could finish the sentence the ship struck 
the beach with fearful force, and was instantly buried 
under a vast mountain of water that hurled itself upon 
her, as though it had long been waiting for the chance to 
destroy her. When the billow had spent its force, the 
decks were clear ! Not a human form was visible where 
a moment before more than a score of men had been 
clinging for dear life ! Hissing and seething like things 
of life, and sending their spray and spume high into the 
mist-laden air, the merciless breakers bore their victims 
off to cast them contemptuously upon the beach. Then, 
ere they could scramble ashore, they would be caught 
up again, and carried off by the recoil of the wave, to be 
once more dashed back, as though they were the play- 
things of the water. 

The major and Eric were separated in the wild con- 
fusion ; but Eric was not parted from Prince. About his 


30 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


brawny neck the mastiff wore a stout leathern collar, and 
to this Eric clung with a grip that not even the awful 
violence of the breakers could unloose. Rather did it 
make his sturdy fingers but close the tighter upon the 
leathern band. 

Into the boiling flood the boy and dog were plunged 
together, and bravely they battled to make the shore. 
The struggle would be a tremendous one for them, and 
the issue only too doubtful. The slope of the beach was 
very gradual, and there was a long distance between 
where the brig struck and the dry land. Wholly blinded 
and half-choked by the driving spray, Eric could do 
nothing to direct his course. But he could have had no 
better pilot than the great dog, whose unerring instinct 
pointed him straight to the shore. 

How long they struggled with the surf, Eric could not 
tell. But his strength had failed, and his senses were 
fast leaving him, when his feet touched something firmer 
than tossing waves, and presently he and Prince were 
lifted up, and then hurled violently upon the sand. Had 
he been alone, the recoil of the wave would certainly 
have carried him back again into the surge ; but the dog 
dug his big paws into the soft beach, and forced his way 
up, dragging his master with him. 

Dizzy, bewildered, and faint, Eric staggered to his feet, 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


31 


looked about him in hope of finding the major near, and 
then, seeing nobody, fell forward upon the sand in a dead 
faint. 

How long he lay unconscious upon the beach, Eric had 
no idea; but when he at length came to himself, he found 
a big, bushy-bearded man bending over him, with a half- 
pitying, half-puzzled look, while beside him, ready for a 
spring, was faithful Prince, regarding him with a look 
that said as plainly as words : 

“ Attempt to do my master any harm, and I will be 
at your throat. 

But the big man seemed to have no evil intent. He 
had evidently been waiting for Eric to gain conscious- 
ness, and, as soon as the boy opened his eyes, said in a 
gruff, but not unkind voice : 

“ So you’re not dead, after all, my hearty. More’s 
the pity, may be. Old Evil-Eye ’ll be wanting to make 
a clean job of it, as usual.” 

Eric did not at all take in the meaning of the stranger’s 
words ; his senses had not yet fully returned. He felt 
a terrible pain in his head and a distressing nausea, and 
when he tried to get upon his feet, he found the effort 
to?> much for him. He fell back with a cry of pain, that 
made the affectionate mastiff run up to him and gently 
lick his face, as though to say : 


32 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


“ What’s the matter, dear master ? Can I do anything 
for you ? ” 

The man then seemed, for the first time, to take notice 
of the dog ; and, putting forth a huge horny hand, he 
patted him warily, muttering under his beard : 

“ Sink me straight, but it's a fine beast. I’ll have him 
for my share, if I have to take the boj along with him.” 

Perceiving by some subtle instinct the policy of 
being civil, Prince permitted himself to be patted by the 
stranger, and then lay down again beside him in a man- 
ner that betokened : “ When wanted, I’m ready.” 

Eric was eager to hear about Major Maunsell and 
the others who had been on board the “ Francis.” Were 
it not for his weakness he would be running up and 
down the beach in search of them. But the terrible 
struggle with the surf, following upon the long exposure 
to the storm, had completely exhausted him, and he was 
sorely bruised besides. Turning his face up to the strange 
man, who seemed to have nothing further to say on his 
own account, he asked him, anxiously : 

“ Where’s Major Maunsell ? Is he all right ? ” 

Instead of answering, the man looked away from Eric, 
and there was an expression on his face that somehow 
sent a chill of dread to the boy’s heart. 

“ Please tell me what has happened. Oh ! take me to 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


33 


him, won’t you ? He’s looking after me, you know,” he 
pleaded earnestly, the tears beginning to well from his 
eyes. 

Still the big man kept silence. Then, as Eric pressed 
him with entreaty, he suddenly wheeled about, and spoke 
in gruffer tones than he had so far used : 

“ You’d best be still and keep quiet. You’ll never see 
Major Maunsell, as you call him, or any of the rest of 
them again, and you might just as well know it first as 
last.” 

At these dreadful words Eric raised himself, by a 
great effort, to a sitting posture, gazed into the man’s 
face as though hoping to find some sign of his not 
being in earnest, and then, with a cry of frantic grief, 
flung himself back, and buried his face in his hands, 
while his whole frame shook with the violence of his 
sobbing. 

The man stood watching him in silence, although his 
face, hard and stern as it was, gave evidence of his 
being moved to sympathy with the boy. He seemed 
to be thinking deeply, and to be in much doubt as 
to what he should do. He was just about to stoop 
down and lift Eric up, when a harsh, grating voice, 
called out : 

“ Halloo, Ben ! What have you got there?” 

C 


CHAPTER IY. 


ALONE AMONG STRANGERS. 

B EN started as though he had been caught at some 
crime, and there was a sulky tone in hi3 voice that 
showed very plainly that he resented the appearance of 
the questioner, as he replied : 

“ Only a boy and a dog.” 

The other man drew near and inspected Eric closely. 
Prince at once sprang to his feet, and, taking up his 
position between the new-comer and his young master, 
fixed his big eyes upon the former, while his teeth 
showed threateningly, and a deep growl issued from 
between them. 

It was no wonder that the sagacious mastiff’s suspi- 
cions were aroused ; for surely never before had his 
eyes fallen upon so sinister a specimen of humanity. 
The man was of little more than medium height ; but 
his frame showed great strength, combined with unusual 
activity, and one glance was sufficient to mark him out 
as a man with whom few could cope. His countenance, 
naturally ugly, had been the playground of the strongest 

and coarsest passions that degrade humanity, and was 
34 






in 

0 > 

u 

cC 


The Wreckers of Sable Island 



THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


35 


rendered still more hideous by the loss of his left eye, 
which had been gouged out in a drunken mblee, and by a 
frightful scar that ran clear from temple to chin on the 
right side of his face. Through the remaining eye all 
the vile nature of the man found expression, and its 
baleful glare, when fixed full upon one, was simply 
appalling. 

To it, perhaps more than to any other quality, Evil- 
Eye — for so his comrades appropriately nicknamed him — 
owed his influence among them ; for he was, in some sort, 
regarded as the leader of the band of wreckers to which 
both he and Ben belonged. 

Evil- Eye held in his right hand a cutlass whose sheen 
was already dimmed with suspicious stains. 

“ Well,” he growled, pointing at Eric, who was staring 
at him spellbound with horror and dread. “ That seems 
to be the last of them. Let’s finish him off. We want 
no tell-tales. Out of the way, you brute ! ” And he 
lifted his cutlass as though to strike Prince first. 

“ Hold,” cried Ben, springing forward and grasping 
Evil-Eye’s arm. “ Let the boy alone ! ” 

“ Let him alone ! ” roared Evil-Eye, with a horrible 
oath. “ That I won’t. Let go of me, will you ? ” And 
wrenching himself free by a tremendous effort, he swung 
the cutlass high over his head, and rushed upon the 


36 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


defenseless boy, who was too terror-stricken to move or 
cry out. 

But quick as Evil-Eye’s movements had been, there 
was another present whose movements were quicker still. 
With a short, deep’ growl like a distant roll of thunder, 
Prince launched himself full at the ruffian’s throat. His 
aim was unerring, and utterly unprepared for so sudden 
an onset, the man rolled over upon the sand, the cutlass 
falling harmlessly from his hand. 

Content with having brought him to the ground, 
Prince did not pursue his advantage farther, but stood 
over the prostrate scoundrel, who made no attempt to 
move, while he implored Ben to drag the dog off him. 

But this Ben seemed in no hurry to do. He evidently 
enjoyed his associate’s sudden defeat, and felt little sym- 
pathy for him in his present predicament. Then as 
he looked from the growling mastiff to his young master, 
who had almost forgotton his own fear in his admiration 
for his faithful dog, a happy thought flashed into his 
mind. His face brightened, and there was a half-smile 
upon it, as, turning to Evil-Eye, who scarce dared to 
breathe, lest those great black jaws, so close to his throat, 
would close tight upon it, he said : 

“ Look here, Evil-Eye. I’ll take the dog off on 
condition. Will you agree ? ” 


one 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


37 


“ What is that ? ” groaned Evil-Eye. 

“ Why, I’ve taken a fancy to this lad and his dog, and 
want to keep them for a while, anyway. Now, if you’ll 
give me your oath that you’ll let them alone so long 
as I want them, I’ll get the dog off ; but if you won’t, 
I’ll just let you have it out with him.” 

Evil-Eye did not answer at once. Twisting his head, 
he looked around to see if any other of his companions 
were near; but there was not a soul in sight, and the 
storm was still raging. 

“ All right, Ben, I’ll swear,” he said sulkily, and then 
a crafty gleam came into his baleful eye as he added, 
“ And say, Ben, will you give me half your share of this 
take if I stand by you for the boy ? They’ll be wanting 
him finished off, maybe.” 

Ben was about to say something bitter in reply, but 
checked himself as though second thoughts were best. 
Yet he could not entirely conceal his contempt in his 
tone as he replied : 

“As you like. These two are what I want most this 
time. But, mind you, Evil-Eye, if any harm comes to 
either of them through your doing, your own blood shall 
pay for it, so sure as my names Ben Harden.” Then, 
turning to Eric, he said : 

“ Here, boy, you can call off your dog now.” 


38 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


Eric obeyed the directions at once. “ Come here, 
Prince ! ” he commanded. “ Come to me, sir ! ” 

Prince wagged his tail to indicate that he heard the 
order, but was evidently in some doubt as to the wisdom 
of obeying it. According to his way of thinking, the 
best place for Evil-Eye was just where he had him, 
and he would like to keep him there a while longer, 
anyway. 

But Eric insisted, and at length the dog obeyed, and 
came over to him, turning, however, to glance back at 
Evil-Eye, as though he was just itching to tumble him 
oyer again. 

Looking very much out of humor, Evil-Eye pulled 
himself together, and put his hand to his throat in order 
to make sure that Prince’s teeth had done him no injury. 
Fortunately for him, the high collar of the great coat he 
wore had been turned up all around to keep out the rain, 
and it had done him still better service by keeping out 
the mastiffs teeth. So he was really none the worse for 
the encounter beyond feeling sulky at his discomfiture. 

He now for the first time took a good look at Eric, 
who had also risen to his feet, the excitement of the 
encounter having made him forget his pain and weak- 
ness. 

“ Humph ! rather a likely lad,” he grunted. “ But he 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


39 


may give us trouble some time. Hav6 you thought 
of that, Ben ? ” 

“ No ; but it doesn’t matter,” answered Ben. “ I’ll 
warrant for his not getting us into trouble. We can 
manage that all right when the time comes.” 

“ Humph ! maybe. But it’s a risk, all the same,” 
returned Evil-Eye. “ But come, we must be off. We’ve 
lost too much time already.” 

The all-prevailing gloom of the day was already deep- 
ening into the early dark of late autumn as the three set 
off across the sands. The spray that the storm tore from 
the crests of the billows dashed in their faces as they, 
advanced. Eric could not have gone far had not Ben 
thrown his brawny arm around him, and almost carried 
him along. Prince trotted quietly at his heels, having 
quite regained his composure, and resigned himself to the 
situation. 

In this fashion they had gone some distance, and Evil- 
Eye, who had kept a little ahead, was about to turn off 
to the right toward the interior of the island, when 
Prince suddenly sniffed the air eagerly, threw up his 
head with a curious cry, half whine, half bark, and then 
bounded away in the direction of the water. Eric 
stopped to watch him, and following him close up with 
his eyes, saw that he ran up to a dark object that lay 


40 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


stretched out upon the sand, about fifty yards away. 
The dog touched it with his nose, and then, lifting his 
head, gave a long, weird howl, that so startled Eric as to 
make him forget his weariness. Breaking away from 
Ben, who, indeed, made no effort to detain him, he 
hastened over to see what Prince had found. 

Darkness was coming on, but before he had got half 
way to the object he could make out that it was a human 
body, and a few steps nearer made it plain that the body 
was that of Major Maunsell ! 

Horror-stricken, yet hoping that the major might still 
be living, Eric rushed forward, and throwing himself 
down beside the motionless form, cried, passionately : 

“Major Maunsell! What’s the matter? Can’t you 
look up ? Oh, surely you’re not dead ! ” 

But the major made no response. Beyond all doubt 
his body was cold in death, and as Eric looked upon the 
white, set face, he saw that his cries were useless, and that 
his dear, kind friend had gone from him forever. He 
felt as though his heart would break, and glancing 
around through his tears at the two strange, rough- 
looking men upon whose mercy the storm had cast him, 
his own fate seemed so dark and doubtful that he almost 
wished that, like the major, he too was lying upon the 
sands in the same quite sleep. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


41 


The discovery of the major’s death was a greater 
shock than the boy, in his exhausted condition, could 
stand, and when, at the approach of the men, he 
attempted to rise, faintness overcame him once more, and 
he fell back unconscious. 

When his senses returned, he found himself in a sort 
of bunk in one corner of a large room containing a num- 
ber of men, whose forms and faces were made visible by 
the light from an immense wood-fire that roared and 
crackled at the farther end of the room. There were at 
least a score of these men, and, so far as he could make 
out, they were all rough, shaggy, wild-looking fellows, like 
Ben and Evil-Eye. The latter he could see plainly, 
sitting beside a table with a bottle before him, from 
which he had just taken a deep draught. 

The liquor apparently loosened his tongue, for glanc- 
ing about him with his single eye, whose fitful glare was 
frightful as the firelight flashed upon it, he began to talk 
vigorously to those who were sitting near him. At first 
Eric paid no attention to what he was saying, but when 
Evil-Eye held up something for the others to admire, he 
leaned forward curiously, to see what it was. There was 
not sufficient light for him to do this, but Evil-Eye came 
to his assistance by saying, in an exultant tone : 

“ There’s a ring for you, my hearties. It’ll bring a 


42 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


pot of money, I wager you. And it ought to. I had 
trouble enough getting it.” 

“ How was that ? ” inquired a man at his side. 

“ The thing wouldn’t come off — stuck on tight. Had 
to chop off the finger before I could get it,” replied the 
ruffian, turning the ring over so that the diamond which 
formed its centre might sparkle to the best advantage for 
the benefit of his companions, not one of whom but 
envied him his good luck in getting such a prize. 

Eric now saw clearly enough what Evil-Eye was dis- 
playing. It was the costly ring which Major Maunsell 
always wore upon the third finger of his left hand, and 
whose beauty Eric had many a time admired, for it held 
a diamond of unusual size and of the purest water, which 
the major told him had been a sort of heirloom in 
the Maunsell family for many generations. Eric’s blood 
boiled at the thought of this ring being in such a scoun- 
drel’s hands, and of the cruel way in which he had 
obtained it ; and only his utter weakness prevented him 
from springing at Evil-Eye, and snatching the ring 
out of his hands. 

Happily he had not the strength to carry out so rash 
an impulse, and was forced to content himself with 
making a solemn resolve to get possession of that ring in 
some manner that it might be returned to the major’. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


43 


family. Determination was one of the boy’s most marked 
characteristics. Nothing short of the conviction that it 
was certainly unattainable could deter him from any- 
thing upon which he had once set his heart; and 
immense as the odds against him in the matter of 
the ring might be, he vowed with all the vigor of his 
brave young heart that he would do his utmost to regain 
his dead friend’s precious jewel. 

For the present, however, nothing could be done. He 
was a captive no less than the ring, and, for aught 
he knew, equally in the power of that brute in human 
form, who was evidently a leading spirit in the group 
of ruffians that occupied the room. Clearly enough, 
his one hope lay in attracting as little attention as pos- 
sible. 

He looked anxiously ^bout the room in search of Ben, 
but could see nothing of him. His good Prince, how- 
ever, was stretched out upon the floor beside the bunk, 
sleeping as soundly as though he were in his own cozy 
quarters at Oakdene. The sight of him comforted Eric 
not a little. So lonely did he feel that he could not resist 
the temptation to awake his faithful companion, so he 
called, softly : 

“ Prince, Prince, come here ! ” 

At first the mastiff did not hear him, but, Eric repeat- 


44 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


ing the call, he awoke, looked up inquiringly, and then, 
rising slowly to his feet, — for he was very tired after the 
terrible passage through the surf, — went over and laid his 
huge head upon his master’s breast. 

“ Dear old dog ! ” murmured Eric, fondling him lov- 
ingly. “Oh, Prince! what is to become of us? If w r e 
were only back in Oakdene again ! ” And then, as the 
awful thought rushed in upon his mind that perhaps 
neither he nor Prince would ever see Oakdene again, 
or find their way to Doctor Copeland at Halifax, the 
tears he had been bravely keeping back could no longer 
be restrained. Sobbing as though his heart would break, 
he clasped Prince’s head tightly in his arms and gave 
himself up to his grief. 

While poor Eric was thus giving away to his feelings, 
a number of men entered the room, one of them being 
Ben Harden. He went up to the weeping boy, and, 
sitting down on the edge of the bunk, said, in quite 
a kindly tone : 

“What’s the matter, my lad ? Feeling homesick, eh ! 
Well, I can’t blame you. It’s a poor place you’ve come 
to. But cheer up, and makqthe best of it. You’ll feel 
better when you get rested.” 

With a great effort Eric gulped down his sobs, and 
wiped away his fast-falling tears. He felt much relieved 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 45 

at seeing Ben again, and did his best to give him a smile 
of welcome as he said : 

“ Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come. Everything seems so 
strange here.” 

A grim smile broke the habitual sternness of the big 
man’s face. 

“Strange! Yes; no doubt. It is a strange place. 
Perhaps you’ll think it stranger before you leave it,” 
said he, adding in an undertone to himself, so that Eric 
hardly caught the words, “that is, if you ever do 
leave it.” 

A large pot hung on a kind of wooden crane before the 
fire, and pointing to it Ben asked Eric if he wouldn’t 
like something to eat. Then, without waiting for a 
reply, he went over to the table, and picking up a plate, 
proceeded to fill it from the pot, and having added a 
spoon, brought it back to Eric. 

Now, trouble may take away the appetite of older 
people, but with a hearty, healthy boy, hunger may 
always be trusted to insist upon being attended to. Eric 
had not tasted food since early morning, and it. was now 
approaching midnight. Could any one who knew any- 
thing about boys find it in their heart to criticise him if 
the plateful of savory stew vanished rapidly before his 
dexterous wielding of the spoon ? 


46 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


Ben was highly pleased at his protege’s vigorous 
appetite. 

“ Well done, my hearty! ” he exclaimed. “ That’s the 
best kind of physic for you. You’ll soon be yourself 
again. Now, then, just you lie down and take a good 
snooze, and that’ll finish the cure.” 

Eric was just about to throw himself back upon the 
pillow, when he caught sight of Prince, who had been 
watching him with eager eyes while he satisfied his 
hunger. 

“ My poor Prince ! ” he cried. “I was forgetting all 
about you. Please can’t he have some dinner too.” 

•* Sartin ! ” said Ben. “ The brute must be hungry. 
I’ll give him a good square meal.” And filling a tin 
dish from the pot, he sat it before the mastiff, who 
attacked it ravenously. 

Eric felt decidedly better for his hearty meal. A lux- 
urious sense of warmth and languor stole over him. He 
stretched himself out upon his comfortable couch, and in 
a few moments sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. Prince 
having licked the dish until it shone again, resumed his 
position beside the bunk, and fell asleep also. 


CHAPTER V. 


ERIC LOOKS ABOUT HIM. 

TT was broad daylight when the boy awoke, and he 
felt very well pleased at finding no one in the room 
but Ben, who sat by the table, evidently waiting for him 
to open his eyes. As soon as he did so, the latter 
noticed it, and coming up to the bunk, said, in his gruff 
way : 

“ Oh, ho ! Awake at last. Was wondering if you were 
going to sleep all day. Feel like turning out ? ” 

“ Of course,” replied Eric, brightly. “ I feel all right 
now.” 

On getting out of the bunk, however, he found himself 
so dreadfully stiff and sore, that it was positively painful 
to move, and he had much difficulty in dragging himself 
over to the table, where he found a pile of ship’s biscuit 
and a pannikin of tea awaiting him. He did not feel 
at all so hungry as he had the night before, and this very 
plain repast seemed very unattractive, accustomed as he 
was to the best of fare. He nibbled at the biscuit, took 
a sip of the tea, and then pushed the things away, 
saying : 


47 


48 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


“ I don’t want any breakfast, thank you. I’m not a 
bit hungry.” 

Ben was too shrewd not to guess the true reason of the 
boy’s indifferent appetite. 

“ There’s not much choice of grub on Sable Island,” 
said he, with one of his grim smiles. “ You’ll have to 
take kindly to hard-tack and tea if you don't want to 
starve.” 

“ But really I am not hungry,” explained Eric, eagerly, 
afraid of seeming not to appreciate his friend’s hos- 
pitality. “ If I were, I’d eat the biscuits fast enough, for 
I’m quite fond of them.” 

Ben now proceeded to fill and light a big pipe. 

“ Do you smoke ?*’ he asked, after he had got it in full 
blast. 

“ Oh, no,” answered Eric. “ My father doesn't believe 
in boys smoking, and has forbidden me to learn.” 

“Your father’s a sensible man, my boy,” said Ben; 
then added, “ Well, you’d best stay about the hut to-day, 
since you feel so stiff. I've got to go off, but I’ll be back 
by mid-dav.” He put on his hat and went away, leaving 
Eric and Prince in possession of the establishment. 

Eric did not by any means like the idea of being left 
alone, but he naturally shrank from saying so. He went 
to the door and regretfully looked after the tall figure 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


49 


striding swiftly over the sand, until it disappeared behind 
a hillock, beyond which he thought must be the ocean. 

Now that he was left entirely to his own resources, 
Eric’s curiosity began to assert itself. Had he but known 
in what direction to go, and felt equal to the task, his first 
business would certainly have been to set forth in search 
of the scene of the wreck ; if haply he might find traces 
of other survivors besides himself. 

But neither could he tell where to go, nor was he fit 
to walk any great distance. For aught he knew, he 
might be miles from the beach where the “Francis” 
finally struck. Anyway, Evil-Eye was certain to be there, 
hunting for more prizes, and he had no wish to encounter 
him. So he proceeded to examine his strange sur- 
roundings. 

The hut — for despite its size, it was really nothing more 
than a hut — was a very curious building. It had evi- 
dently been put together by many hands, out of the 
wreckage of many ships, the builders apparently being 
more proficient in ship-carpentry than house-joining. 
Their labors had resulted, through an amazing adapta- 
tion of knees, planking, stanchions, and bulk-heads, in a 
long, low-ceilinged, but roomy building, something after 
the shape of a large vessel’s poop. For lighting and 

ventilation it depended upon a number of port-holes ir- 
D 


50 THE WKECKEKS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

% 

regularly put in. Running around two sides of the room 
was a row of bunks, very much like those in a fore-castle, 
the tier being two high. Eric counted them. There were 
just thirty, and he wpndered if each had an occupant. 
If so, he must have slept in Ben’s last night, and where 
then had Ben himself slept? 

Upon the walls of the other two sides of the room hung 
a great number of weapons of various kinds — cutlasses, 
swords, muskets, dirks, daggers, and pistols, a perfect 
armory, all carefully burnished and ready for use. 
They strongly excited Erics curiosity, and he occupied 
himself examining them, one by one. One pair of pistols 
especially attracted his attention. They were of the very 
latest make, and the handles were beautifully inlaid with 
silver. He took one from the wall, and aimed at one of 
the port-holes with it. As he did so a thought flashed 
into his mind that gave him an electric thrill, and sent 
the blood bounding wildly through his veins. 

What if that port-hole were the repulsive countenance 
of Evil-Eye, and they were alone together ? Would he 
be able to resist the impulse to give with his forefinger 
the slight pressure upon the finely-balanced trigger that 
would send a bullet crashing into the ruffian’s brain? So 
intense was his excitement that he almost staggered 
under its influence. For the first time in his life an over- 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


51 


mastering passion for revenge, for retribution, took pos- 
session of him, and carried him out of himself. Smooth, 
clear, and bright as the lovely stream that watered the 
Oakdene meadows, had been the current of his life 
hitherto. To few boys had the lines fallen in pleasanter 
places. 

Yet this happy fortune had not rendered him unmanly 
or irresolute. He was capable of conceiving and carry- 
ing out any purpose that lay within the range of a boy’s 
powers. The Copeland courage and the Copeland de- 
termination were his inheritance. 

Now never before had he been brought into contact 
with any one who had so roused his repulsion or hatred 
as Evil-Eye. Not only because of his hideous appearance 
and threatened violence, but because of Ben’s dark hints 
and his own suspicions as to Evil-Eye being no better 
than a murderer, the very depths of his nature were 
stirred, and he felt as though it would be but right to 
inflict summary vengeance at the first opportunity. 

Trembling with these strange, wild thoughts, he held 
the pistol still pointed at the port-hole, and unconsciously 
pressing upon the trigger, there was a sharp report, which 
caused Prince, dozing comfortably by the fire, to spring 
to his feet with a startled growl, following the crash of 
broken glass, as the bullet pierced the port-lid. 


52 THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAJS'D. 

Almost at the same moment the door was thrown 
roughly open, and Evil-Eye entered the room. 

“ What are you doing with my pistols ? ” he cried, his 
face aflame with rage, as he strode toward Eric. 

Scarce knowing what he was doing, Eric snatched up 
the other pistol, and darted around the big table so that 
it would form a barrier between himself and Evil-Eye. 
His hand was perfectly steady now, and leveling the 
pistol at his assailant, he said, in a firm tone : 

“ Let me alone, or I’ll shoot you.” 

With a fearful oath the ruffian drew a pistol from his 
belt, and in another moment blood would undoubtedly 
have been shed, had not Ben Harden rushed in through 
the open door, and snatching Evil-Eye’s pistol out of his 
hand, thrown it to the other end of the room, where it 
went off without harm to any one. 

“ You infernal scoundrel ! ” he roared. “ If you don’t 
leave that boy alone, I’ll break every bone in your 
body.” 

At first Evil-Eye was so completely taken aback by 
this unexpected interference, that he seemed dazed for a 
moment. Then his hand went again to his belt, as though 
he would turn his baffled fury upon Ben. But evidently 
a wiser second thought prevailed, and choking down his 
wrath, he growled out, contemptuously : 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


53 


“ Don’t be in such a stew. I’m not going to hurt your 
baby. I was only teaching him manners, and not to 
meddle with other people’s belongings, without first ask- 
ing their leave.” 

This speech drew Ben’s attention to the pistol Eric 
still held in his hand. 

“ Ah,” said lie ; “ you’ve got one of Evil-Eye’s pets 
there, have you ? Well, put it back in its place, and 
don’t touch it again.” 

Feeling very confused, Eric replaced the pistols care- 
fully, their owner watching him with a malign glare 
which boded him no good. Its meaning was not lost upon 
observant Ben. 

“ Come, my lad,” said he ; “ a bit of an airing will do 
you good. Put on your cap, and come out with me.” 

Only too glad to obey, Eric picked up his cap, and 
calling to Prince, followed Ben out into the open air, 
leaving Evil-Eye alone in the hut. 

The sun was high in the heavens, the sky almost cloud- 
less, and the wind blew as softly and innocently from the 
South, as though it had not raged with fatal fury but a 
few hours before. Eric’s spirits, which had been woefully 
depressed by the events of the past two days, began to 
rise a little ; and he looked about him with much interest, 
as he trudged along through the deep sand. 


54 


THF WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


Ben appeared to be in no mood for talking, and stalked 
on ahead in moody silence, puffing hard at the short black 
pipe which was hardly ever away from his mouth, except 
at meal time and when he was sleeping. Eric, therefore, 
did not bother him with questions, and found companion- 
ship in Prince, who showed lively satisfaction in being 
out-of-doors, frisking about, and barking loudly in the 
exuberance of his glee. One good night’s rest and plenty 
to eat had been sufficient to completely restore his 
strength. He looked and felt quite equal to anything 
that might be required of him, and was an inexpressible 
comfort to Eric, to whom he seemed much more than a 
mere dog — a protector and friend, who could be trusted 
to the uttermost. 

Half an hour’s walking brought Ben to the highest 
point of a sand ridge, where he threw himself, waiting 
for Eric, who had lagged behind a little, to come up. 

Sit ye down, lad,” said he, when the boy reached him. 
“ You’re feeling tired, no doubt.” 

Eric was tired, and very glad indeed to seat himself 
near Ben, who continued to puff away at his pipe, as 
though he had nothing more to say. Thus left to him- 
self, Eric let his eyes wander over the strange and striking 
scene spread out before him. 

He was upon the crest of a sand-hill, a hundred feet or 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


55 


more in height, which sloped to the beach, upon whose 
glistening sands the great billows were breaking, although 
the day was clear and calm. Far out beyond the serried 
lines of white-maned sea-coursers, the ocean could be 
seen sleeping peacefully. Here and there, upon the sand- 
bars, the hulls of vessels in varying stages of destruc- 
tion, told plainly how common was the fate which had 
befallen the “ Francis,” and how rich a field the wreckers 
had chosen for their dreadful business. 

Turning to his right, Eric saw a long narrow lake in 
the middle of the island, its banks densely grown with 
rushes and lilies. Upon its placid surface flocks of ducks 
were paddling, while snipe and sand-pipe hopped along 
the margin. The valley of the lake presented a curious 
contrast to those portions of the island that faced seaward, 
for it was thickly carpeted with coarse grass and wild 
vines, which were still green enough to be grateful to the 
eye weary of the monotony of sand and sea. 

Upon the left the island rose and fell, a succession of 
sand hills. Far in the distance, a faint line of white 
showed where it once more touched the ocean, and gave 
cause for other lines of roaring surges. All this and 
more had Eric time to take in before Ben broke silence. 
He had been regarding him very thoughtfully for a few 
moments, and at length he spoke : 


56 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


“ Well, lad,” said he, “ I’ve been thinking much about 
ye. I’ve saved your life, but I’m not so clear in my mind 
but what it ud have been best to have let you go with the 
others.” 

Eric gave a start of surprise, and there was an alarmed 
tone in his voice, as he exclaimed : 

“ Why, Mr. Ben what makes you say that? ” 

“ Well, you see, it’s just this way,” answered Ben, 
slowly, as though he were puzzling out the best way to 
state the case. “ You’re in a mighty bad box, and no 
mistake. Evil-Eye does not fancy you, and will take 
the first chance to do for you, if he can keep his own 
skin whole. Dead men tell no tales, is what he goes by, 
and if the folks over there,” jerking his thumb in the 
direction of the mainland, “ only knew what goes on 
here, they’d be pretty sure to want to put a stop to it, 
and make us all smart for it finely. Now, it’s not likely 
you want to join us, and I’m no less sure that Evil-Eye 
will take precious good care not to let you go, for fear 
you should get his neck into the noose. That’s the only 
thing he’s afraid of. And so it just bothers me to make 
out what’s to be the end of the business.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


BEN HARDEN. 

A S the words fell one by one from Ben’s lips, Eric real- 
ized more and more clearly how critical was his 
situation. In his gladness at escape from the present 
peril of the wreck, he had forgotten to take thought for 
the future ; but now he was brought face to face with a 
state of affairs by which that future was filled with dark 
foreboding. Little as he had seen of the men into whose 
midst he had been so strangely thrown, it was enough to 
make very plain to him that they wanted no witness of 
their doings. 

So far they had been too much occupied with their 
own concerns to take much notice of him ; but once he 
became the object of their attention, the question as to 
his disposal must be settled. The issue was more than 
doubtful, to say the least. 

An awful feeling of desolation and despair came upon 
him. He seemed unable to utter a word, but looked up 
into Ben’s bronzed face with an expression in which 
pathetic appeal was so mingled with harrowing dread, as 
to touch this strange man. 


57 


58 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


He sprang to his feet, dashed his pipe out of his mouth, 
clenched his huge fists, and shouted aloud, as though all 
the other wreckers were there to hear : 

“ By my soul ! 1 saved ye, and Fm going to stand by 

ye. Whoever wants to do you harm ’ll have to reckon 
with Ben Harden first — and come what may, 111 get you 
off this cursed place with a whole skin, somehow.” 

Eric was as much surprised at Ben’s sudden display of 
strong feeling as he had been alarmed by his ominous 
words. He gazed at him, with wide-open mouth until 
the wrecker, recovering his self-control by an evident 
effort, threw himself down on the sand again, picked up 
his pipe, carefully relit it, and vigorously resumed puffing 
forth clouds of smoke. 

It was some time before he spoke again. In a quiet, 
natural tone, he asked Eric: 

“ Have you any notion, my lad, why I troubled myself 
about ye, at all ? ” 

Eric shook his head, and there was something inex- 
pressibly winning in his smile, as he answered : 

“ No, sir. Unless because you have too kind a heart 
to let Evil-Eye do me any harm.” 

Ben smiled in return, but it was in a grim sort of a 
way. 

“My heart was softer once than it is now. There 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


59 


were better days then, and never did I think that I’d 
come to be a wrecker on Sable Island,” said he ; and the 
remembrance of those better days evidently gave him 
saddening thoughts, for he relapsed into the moody si- 
lence that was his wont. It continued so long that Eric 
began to feel uncomfortable, and was about to move 
away a little in order to have a frolic with Prince, when 
Ben roused himself, and motioned him to draw near him. 

“ Sit ye down in front of me, my lad,” said he, “ and 
listen to me a bit, and I’ll tell you why I couldn’t find it 
in my heart to let any harm come to you. I had a boy 
of my own once, as trim a lad as ever sat in a boat, and 
many a fine trip we made together, for I was at an honest 
trade then, and wasn’t ashamed to take my boy into it. 
Ah ! lad, those were the good times. We went fishing 
on the Banks, getting our outfit at Halifax, and selling 
our fare there. But our home was at Chester, where I 
had a snug cottage, all my own, without a shilling of 
debt on it, and pretty well fitted up too. The wife — God 
rest her soul! she was a good wife to me — she looked 
after the cottage, and we looked after the little schooner, 
and after each trip we’d stay at home awhile, and have a 
little time together. 

“ We were mostly always in luck on the Banks, and it 
was not often the * Sea-Slipper ’ missed a good fare, if there 


60 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


were any fish to be caught. And so it went on, until I 
lost my lad. He and his mate were out in their dory 
fishing, and the cod were plentiful, and they were so full 
of catching them that they did not notice the fog coming 
up and creeping all around them. They lost their bear- 
ings, and no man ever set eyes on them again. 

“I didn’t give up hoping I’d find them for months 
afterward. I cruised about the Banks, I called at all the 
ports that sent out Bankers, and I tried at Halifax, Bos- 
ton, New York, and other big places, hoping that some 
ship might have picked them up. But not a word did I 
hear. There was a heavy blow right after the fog, and 
no doubt they were lost in that. I lost a lot of time 
hunting for my boy, and it seemed as though when he 
went my luck followed him. Everything went wrong. 
The fish w r ould hardly touch my hooks, and I never got 
a full fare. Then the wife died. She never held up her 
head after the day I came home without our boy. I took 
to the drink. It didn’t make matters any better, of 
course, but I couldn’t keep from it. 

“ I got knocking about with a bad lot of chaps, and 
the end of it was, some of us came here. I don't care 
how soon it’s all over with me. I hate this business, and 
I hate myself.” 

Here Ben came to a pause, as though he had said more 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


61 


than he intended ; and Eric, not knowing what to inter- 
pose, looked at him in silent sympathy, until he began 
again. 

“But I haven’t told ye why I saved ye from Evil- 
Eye. 

“ Well, it was just this way. When I found ye you 
were lying on the sand, like as though you were asleep ; 
and you fairly gave me a start, you looked so like my 
own boy. He was just about your age when he was lost, 
and you’d be much the same size, and he had brown hair, 
just like yours. 

“ If my boy had been lying, half dead, on the beach, 
I’d have thought any man worse than a devil, that 
wouldn’t help the lad. So I just made up my mind to 
take your part, Evil-Eye or no Evil-Eve, and now I’m 
going to stick to it.” 

Having spoken thus, Ben put his pipe back between 
his lips, evidently having no more to say. Eric hardly 
knew how to give expression to his feelings. Sympathy 
for his rescuer’s troubles and gratitude for his assurance 
of safe-keeping filled* his heart. The tears gathered in 
his eyes, and his voice trembled as, turning to the big 
man beside him, he laid his hand upon his knee, and 
looking up into his face, said : 

“You’ve been very good to me, Mr. Ben. You’re the 


62 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


only friend I’ve got here, except Prince, and Pm sure you 
won’t let any harm come to me, if you can help it. And 
Pm so sorry about your son. You see, we’ve both lost 
somebody. You’ve lost your boy, and I — I’ve lost my 
mother.” 

His voice sank to a whisper as he uttered the words, 
and the tears he had been bravely keeping back, over- 
flowed upon his cheeks. 

Ben said not a word ; there was a suspicious glistening 
about his eyelids, and the quite superfluous vigor of his 
puffing told plainly enough that he was deeply moved. 
After a moment he rose to his feet, knocked the ashes out 
of his pipe, and putting it into his pocket, said : 

“ Come, lad, let us go back to the hut.” 

The two retraced their steps to the wreckers’ abode. 
Eric now felt more at ease than he had since the ship- 
wreck. With such protectors as Ben and Prince, he 
surely had not much to fear, even in the evil company 
among which he had been cast. As to the future — well, 
it certainly did seem .dark. But he had been taught to 
put trust in the Heavenly Father to whom he prayed, 
and he looked up to him now for help and guidance. 

When they arrived at the hut, they found the whole 
party of wreckers there, waiting somewhat impatiently 
for a huge negro to serve them their supper. 


THE WEECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


63 


This negro did duty as cook ; they called him Black 
J oe. They took little notice of the new-comers, and Eric, 
going quietly over to his bunk, sat down on the edge and 
looked about him. This was his first opportunity of 
getting a good look at his strange companions. 

By listening to their conversation and studying their 
countenances, he made out that the majority of them were 
English, but that there were a few Frenchmen amongst 
them. There was only one negro, a stalwart, bull-necked, 
bullet-headed fellow, with a good-natured face, who 
seemed the butt of the others, and a target for their oaths 
and jeers, as he bustled about the fireplace preparing 
their food. 

The whole party appeared to be in excellent humor, 
the cause thereof being plainly enough the fact of the 
“ Francis” having proved so rich a prize. Each man had 
been able to secure sufficient plunder to satisfy him, so 
there was no necessity for quarreling over the division. 
They each had some precious find to boast of, and they 
vied with one another in relating with great gusto their 
successful efforts after the wreckage. 

From what they said, Eric gathered that the “Francis” 
did not break up after striking. Her stout oak frame re- 
sisted the fiercest attempts of the billows to tear it asunder. 
The storm subsided during the night, and the men were 


64 THE WRECKERS OF SABRE ISLAND. 

able, in the morning, to make their way to the wreck, 
and despoil her of whatever took their fancy. 

The thousands of valuable books, and the hold-full of 
costly, but cumbrous furniture, they contemptuously left 
to the mercy of wind and wave. The great store of gold 
and silver plate, the casks o f finest wines, jthe barrels an^ 
cases of delicious biscuits, (conserys i) picklesTand other 
dainties, together with the racks of muskets, swords, and 
other weapons — these were all very much to their liking. 
Moreover, the clothing-chests had been ransacked, each 
man helping himself according to his fancy. The result 
was a display of gorgeous uniforms and elegant apparel 
that would have been quite imposing had not the faces 
and manners of the wearers been so ludicrously out of 
keeping with their costumes. 

Little did Prince Edward imagine, when ordering 
liberal additions to his wardrobe, that those resplendent 
garments were destined to be worn to tatters on the backs 
of the wreckers o.f Sable Island. What would have been 
his feelings could he have seen Evil-Eye strutting about 
as proud as a turkey-cock in the superb uniform intended 
for the commander of the forces at Halifax? 

Although the profuse profanity of the speakers shocked 
and sickened him, Eric listened attentively to all that 
was said, in the hope of picking up something about his 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 65 

future. But the wreckers were too much occupied with 
their own affairs to pay any attention to him. Presently 
Black Joe announced that supper was ready, whereupon 
they all stopped talking, and fell to with ravenous appe- 
tites. 

The table looked curiously out of keeping with its 
associations of squalid hut/ and coarse, brutal men. It 
was covered with a cloth of richest damask, that should 
have adorned a royal dining room, and set out with 
china, glass, plate, and cutlery of corresponding elegance. 
It filled Eric with indignation and disgust to see the 
wreckers hacking their meat with ivorv-handled knives, 
impaling their potatoes upon silver forks, and quenching 
their thirst by copious draughts out of cut glass goblets, 
which seemed to be desecrated by their foul touch. 

Ben motioned him to a seat beside himself, and helped 
him bountifully. Ill at ease as the boy felt, he was very 
hungry, and was glad to do full justice to the coarse but 
plentiful fare provided by Black Joe. The wine he would 
not touch. 

The hearty supper and the abundant wine put the men 
in even better humor than before, and Ben now saw his 
opportunity to carry out a plan that had been forming in 
his mind. Rising to his feet, he secured his companion's 

attention by rapping loudly upon the table with the 

E 


66 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE IS LANE. 


handle of his knife, and then proceeded to surprise them 
by making a little speech ; for so chary of his words was 
he, as a usual thing, that they tometimes called him Silent 
Ben. 

“ I want a word with you, mates,” said he ; and at once 
every face was turned toward him. 

“ You see this boy here. Now, I’ve taken a great lik- 
ing to him, and I’m willing that he and his dog shall be 
counted as part of my share of this last prize. That’s all 
right, ain’t it ? ” 

“ Aye, aye, Ben ; right enough,” came from half-a- 
dozen of them, while some of the others looked a little 
doubtful, as if they didn’t know exactly what was coming. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A SABLE ISLAND WINTER. 

^ TT7ELL, now, look here, mates,” Ben continued. 

» T “Fair and square’s the word between us, ain’t 
it ? If I choose to take a notion to these two, here, it’s 
my own lookout, and it’s not for any other chap to be 
interfering with me, any more than I’d be after wanting 
your things, eh ? ” 

They were beginning to see what he was driving at, 
now, and one of them said, with a sort of sneer : 

“You’re not afraid of any one wanting your boy, or 
his dog, either, are you ? ” 

“ Not exactly,” answered Ben. “ But what I’ve on 

my mind is this : Seeing they ’re my property, I don’t 

want any one to meddle with them, or give them any 

trouble ; that’s only fair, ain’t it ? ” 

“ Fair enough, Ben ; but what are you going to do with 

the boy when we leave here ? ” asked one. And there 

was a murmur of assent to the question. 

“ That’ll be all right, mates,” replied Ben, promptly. 

“ I’ll be surety that he doesn’t get us into any trouble. 

You just leave that to me, and I’ll warrant you I’ll get 

67 


68 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


him away from us quiet enough. What do you say, 
mates ? ” 

Although by dint of bluster and brutality Evil-Eye 
had forced his way to a sort of leadership among the 
wreckers, there was really none of them with so much 
influence as Ben. With the exception of Evil-Eye, they 
were all now quite ready to accept his assurances of Eric 
not proving a source of trouble, and to consent to his 
remaining with them. Evil-Eye growled and grumbled 
a good deal, but could get nobody to heed him ; and Ben, 
satisfied that he had carried his point, and that Eric and 
Prince were safe, took his seat again, and lit his pipe for 
a good smoke. 

He was perfectly sincere in promising that Eric would 
not get his associates into any trouble. He certainly 
never imagined what would be the result of his taking 
him under his protection. Could he have had a peep 
into the future, perhaps he would have hesitated before 
becoming his champion, As it was, he gave himself no 
concern upon the point. 

Eric felt wonderfully relieved at the result of his pro- 
tector’s appeal. It settled his position among his strange, 
uncongenial companions. They might take no notice of 
him, if they chose; indeed, that was just what he would 
prefer. But they had, at all events, not only recognized, 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 69 

but consented to his presence ; and this took a great load 
off his mind. 

Although his objections had been ignored by his com- 
panions, Evil-Eye was by no means disposed to give up 
altogether his designs upon Eric. There were two rea- 
sons why he hungered for the boy’s life. It was against 
his principle of dead men telling no tales, that he should 
be spared ; and, again, he hated Ben, and the mere fact 
of his being interested in Eric was quite sufficient to 
cause the innocent lad to get a share of that hatred. 

In the days that followed, Eric could not fail to be con- 
scious of the frequency with which the ruffian’s one eye 
was turned upon him, and of the hyena-like look with 
which it regarded him. Happy for him was it that there 
was a restraining influence which kept that awful look 
from finding its way into fitting deed. 

Though they did not distinctly recognize any leader, — 
their motto being each man for himself, and one as good 
as another, — the wreckers regarded Ben with a respect 
accorded no other member of the motley crew. This 
was in part due to his great size and strength, and in 
part to his taciturn, self-contained ways, which prevented 
any of that familiarity that so quickly breeds contempt. 

Evil-Eye feared Ben no less than he hated him, and 
dared not openly attempt anything against him ; al- 


70 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


though the fire of his fury burned hotly within his breast. 
In this fear of Ben, much more than in the decision of 
the other wreckers, lay Eric’s safety. Ere long, this 
defense was strengthened in a manner most strange, 
startling, and happily most effective. 

A week of almost incessant stormy weather had com- 
pelled the wreckers to spend most of their time in the 
hut. Finding the hours kang heavy on their hands, 
many of them had sought solace in drink, of which the 
“ Francis ’ ” fine stock of wines and liquors furnished an 
unstinted supply. No one drank more deeply than Evil- 
Eye. Day after day was passed in a state alternating 
between coarse hilarity and maudlin stupor. Ben, on 
the other hand, hardly touched the liquor, contenting 
himself with sipping a little at his meals. 

It was well, indeed, that he should be so moderate, for 
his cool head and strong hand were in demand more than 
once to prevent serious conflicts among his intoxicated 
companions. Eric, in spite of the stormy weather, kept 
as much out of doors as possible. He preferred the buf- 
feting of the wintry winds to the close atmosphere of the 
hut, foul with oaths, and reeking with tobacco and spirits. 

Evil-Eye’s carouse had continued several days. Early 
one night, after he had fallen into a sottish sleep upon 
his bunk, and the others had, later on, one by one, turned 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


71 


in for the night, leaving the room in a silence broken 
only by the heavy breathing and stertorous snoring of 
the sleepers, the whole hut was suddenly aroused by an 
appalling yell from Evil-Eye. Starting up, his compan- 
ions saw him, by the light of a moonbeam that strayed 
in through one of the port-holes, rise to his feet with an 
expression of the most frantic terror upon his hideous 
countenance, as he shrieked at the top of his voice : 

41 1 will. I swear I will. If you’ll only let me alone.” 

Then, throwing up his arms, he fell over, foaming, in 
a fit. 

For some minutes the hut was a scene of wild confu- 
sion, as its bewildered inmates, so suddenly aroused from 
their sleep, stumbled about in the darkness, trying to find 
out what was the matter. But Ben, who was not easily 
frightened, soon restored order by striking a light, and 
showing that whatever may have been the matter with 
Evil-Eye, there was certainly no real cause for alarm. 
Thereupon, with many a curse upon him for disturbing 
their night’s rest, most of them grumblingly went back 
to sleep. 

A few thought it worth while to see what was the 
matter with Evil-Eye, and of those Ben took command. 
Little as he loved the ruffian, he could not find it in his 
heart to let him die for lack of a little care. So, under 


72 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


his direction, the struggling man was lifted out upon the 
floor. His face was splashed with water, while his arms 
and legs were chafed by rough hands. In a little while 
the patient’s struggles grew less violent, the purple hue 
left his face, and his breathing became more natural. 
Presently, with a great sigh, he fell into a heavy sleep, 
from which he did not awake for many hours. 

Although pestered with questions, upon his return to 
consciousness, as to the cause of his strange behavior, 
he refused to give any reason. But there were , two 
changes in him too noticeable not to excite the remark 
of his associates. He was much more moderate in the 
use of wine, taking care not to drink to excess, and his 
attitude toward Eric became curiously different. Instead 
of regarding him with his former look of hungering ha- 
tred, he now seemed to have a feeling of dread. He 
shrank from being near him, avoiding him in every pos- 
sible way, treating him, in fact, much as a dog would a 
man who had been especially cruel to him. 

Ben and Eric at once noted the change, and were well 
pleased at it. Some time after, they learned the cause. 
It seemed that the evening Evil-Eve had acted so 
strangely, he had heen awakened from his drunken sleep 
about midnight by a startling vision. 

It was the form of a tall man in a military uniform. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


73 


dripping with sea-water and soiled with sand. On his 
face was the pallor of death, and his eyes had an awful, 
far-away expression, as though they were looking through 
the startled sleeper. Fixing them steadfastly upon Evil- 
Eye, whose blood seemed to freeze in his veins, he held 
up his forefinger as if commanding attention, and pointed 
to the bunk where Eric lay sleeping. 

At the same time his face took on a threatening look, 
and his lips moved. Although no words reached Evil- 
Eye’s ears, he understood. As the spectre stood before 
him, so intense was his terror that it broke the spell 
which locked his lips ; and he shrieked out the words 
already mentioned. He knew no more until, at broad 
daylight, he found himself weak and miserable in his 
berth. 

Like many men of his kind, Evil-Eye was very super- 
stitious. After the vision he looked upon Eric as being 
under the protection of some ghostly being that would 
forever haunt any one who did him any harm. 

Henceforth Eric had nothing to fear from him. 

Winter on Sable Island is not like winter on the main- 
land. The Gulf Stream prevents any long continuance 
of cold. The snow comes in violent storms, and fills the 
valleys with drifts; but these soon vanish. There is 
more rain and fog than snow, even in mid-winter, and 


74 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


the herds of wild, shaggy, sharp-boned ponies which 
scamper from end to end of the island have no difficulty 
in finding plenty to eat among the grasses which grow 
rankly in every sheltered spot. 

These ponies were a great source of amusement to 
Eric. But for them and the rabbits, which were even 
more numerous, the winter, wearisome at best, would have 
been simply intolerable. 

The wreckers had captured a score of the ponies, and 
broken them in after a fashion. They were kept near 
the hut, in a large corral built of driftwood, and there 
were plenty of saddles and bridles. 

Now if there was one manly accomplishment more 
than another upon which Eric prided himself it was his 
horsemanship. He had been put upon a pony when only 
five years old, and had been an enthusiastic rider ever 
since. At Oakdene he had ridden to hounds since he 
was twice five years of age, and there was not a lad in 
the county with a firmer seat in the saddle, or a more 
masterful touch of the reins. The saddles and bridles 
at Sable Island were poor things compared with what he 
had been accustomed to ; and the ponies themselves were 
about as wicked and vicious as animals of that size could 
be. But this only lent an additional zest to the amuse- 
ment of riding them. Their bad behavior did not daunt 





Page 75 























» 









THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


75 


Eric in the least. With Ben’s assistance, a pony would 
be caught in the corral, and saddled, and then off he 
would go for a long, lively gallop, Prince, as full of glee 
as himself, barking and bounding along at his side. 

Very often Ben would keep him company; for there 
was an old black stallion of unusual size which seemed 
equal to the task of bearing his huge frame. Then Eric’s 
happiness was complete ; for every day he was growing 
more fond of the big man who had saved him from a 
dreadful death, and who now treated him with paternal 
tenderness. 

With the keen wintry air making his cheeks tingle, he 
would scamper off at full speed for mile after mile, while 
Ben lumbered along more slowly, thoroughly enjoying 
the boy’s vigor and daring. Then, halting until Ben 
overtook him, he would canter on quietly. 

An amusement of which Eric never tired was chasing 
the wild ponies, as though he wanted to catch one of 
them. Climbing one of the sand-hills, he would look 
about until he sighted a herd grazing quietly in the hol- 
lows, and guarded as usual by a touzle-maned stallion of 
mature years. Making a wide detour, and carefully con- 
cealing his approach by keeping the hillocks between 
himself and the ponies, he would get as near as .he pos- 
sibly could without being seen. If necessary, he dis- 


76 THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

mounted and crept along on his hands and knees, drag- 
ging his own pony by the bridle, while Prince followed. 

When concealment was no longer possible, he would 
spring into his saddle, and with wild shouts charge down 
upon the startled ponies ; and they would gallop off in 
headlong stampede. 

One afternoon, while thus amusing himself, he had 
quite an exciting experience, and rather a narrow escape 
from injury. He had stampeded a herd of ponies, and, 
picking out a sturdy little youngster as his particular 
prey, was pressing him pretty closely, when the pony 
charged straight up the side of a hill. As it was not 
steep, Eric followed hard after him, taking for granted 
the slope would be about the same on the other side. 
Instead of that, the hill fell away abruptly. Over 
plunged the hunted pony. Unable to check his own ani- 
mal, full of the spirit of the chase, over plunged Eric 
after. For a moment both ponies kept their feet ; but, 
the treacherous sand giving way beneath them, they 
rolled head over heels. Eric happily got free from his 
horse in time to save himself from being crushed under- 
neath it ; but when they all reached the bottom in a heap 
together, he could not escape the frantically pawing 
hoofs ; and one of them struck him such a blow upon 
the head as to stun him. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


77 


When he recovered he found himself lying upon the 
sand, not a pony in sight, and Prince licking his face 
with affectionate anxiety. His head ached sharply, and 
he felt somewhat sore after his tremendous tumble ; but 
not a bone was broken, nor joint sprained. Thankful at 
having gotten off so well, he made the best of his way 
back to the hut. 

Ben was greatly pleased at the adventure, and regretted 
he had not been there when ponies, boy, and dog, rolled 
down the hill together. 

“ You ought to let your friends know when you’re going 
to give a performance like that, my lad,” said he, after a 
hearty laugh. “ It’s too good to keep to yourself.” 

“ Perhaps you’d like me to repeat it for you,” Eric 
suggested. 

“ Ho, indeed, Eric. You got off all right that time, 
but you might break your precious neck the next. How 
would you like to have a try at a morse ? The men tell 
me they saw a lot of them at the west end this morning ; 
and as you’re so fund of hunting, there’s something well 
worth killing.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


ANXIOUS TIMES. 

<<TT OW would I like it?” cried Eric, his face 
beaming. 

“ Why, above all things, I’ve often seen pictures of 
the great ugly creatures, and I think it would be just 
splendid to shoot one and get his tusks.” 

“All right, my boy,” replied Ben. “We’ll start the 
first thing in the morning.” 

Accordingly, the next morning the two set out upon 
their ponies for the west end. Ben carried a heavy 
musket that would send a load of slugs through a ship’s 
side, and Eric a light smooth-bore, the accuracy of which 
he had proven by frequent practice. As they would be 
away all day, they took plenty of biscuits along. Prince, 
of course, went with them, and as soon as they had dis- 
posed of breakfast they started. 

There were many creatures to be found on Sable Island 
in those days, which would be vainly sought now. Besides 
the ponies, a large number of wild cattle and hogs roamed 
about the interior, and furnished the wreckers with abun- 
dant meat ; while during the winter, the morse, or walrus, 
78 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


79 


and the great Greenland seal paid the beaches regular 
visits. The common harbor seal was there all the year 
round. Of these animals, only the ponies and common 
seals still remain ; the others have been all killed off. 

When Ben and Eric drew near the end of the island, 
they dismounted, and tethered the ponies, so that they 
could not run back to the corral. They then made their 
way cautiously to the edge of the bank thrown up by the 
waves. Ben was a little ahead of Eric, and the moment 
he peeped over the bank he turned and motioned Eric 
to follow. 

“Look, lad! ” said he, in a voice full of excitement, as 
he pointed to the beach in front. “ There they are ! 
Aren’t they beauties ? ” 

Eric looked, and his face showed the surprise he had 
too much sense to put into words. “ Beauties ! ” he thoug'ht 
to himself. “ Why, they are the most hideous monsters 
I ever saw in my life.” 

And they certainly were hideous, with their huge, dun- 
colored, ungainly bodies, their bullet heads, their grisly 
beards, their terrible tusks, and their bulging eyes. They 
looked as ugly as some nightmare vision. Plucky as he 
was, Eric could not restrain a tremor as he gazed at them. 
But he had no time to indulge his feelings, for Ben said, 
in a hoarse whisper : 


80 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


“ You take that tusker right in front of you, and I’ll 
take the big fellow to the right, and when I say ‘ Fire ! ’ 
let drive. Be sure and aim right at the nose.” 

Eric’s heart was beating wildly, and he could scarcely 
breathe for excitement ; but his hand was steady as he 
drew the musket to his shoulder, and took careful aim at 
the nose of the walrus Ben had assigned to him. Giving 
a quick glance to see that all was ready, Ben called 
“ Fire ! ” 

Like the report of one the two muskets cracked together, 
and the marksmen peered eagerly through the smoke to 
see the result. Clearly enough their aim had been good : 
for while the remainder of the little pack of walrus lum- 
bered off into the water snorting with terror, the two that 
had been picked out as targets did not follow. Ben’s fell 
over on the sand, to all appearances dead ; but Eric’s 
plunged madly about, seeming to be too bewildered to 
take refuge in flight. 

" Hastily reloading, the hunters rushed upon their prey, 
and Ben, seizing a good opportunity, put another charge 
of slugs into the struggling creature’s head, just behind 
the ear, which cut short its sufferings. 

“ Hurrah ! ” cried Ben, radiant with pride and satis- 
faction. “We’ve got them both, and no mistake. We’ll 
each have a fine pair of tusks, won’t we ? ” 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


81 


Eric was no less delighted, and all his nervousness 
having vanished, executed a sort of war-dance around the 
prostrate forms of the sea-monsters, which looked all the 
uglier the closer he got to them. Drawing a big knife 
from his belt, Ben approached his walrus to sever the 
head from the body, Eric standing a little distance off 
to watch him. They were quite sure the creature was 
dead, but the instant the sharp steel touched its neck it 
came to life ; for it had been only stunned. With a sud- 
den sweep of its fore-flipper, it hurled Ben over upon his 
back, sending the knife flying from his hand. 

“ Eric ! quick ! for God’s sake ! ” cried Ben, as he fell. 

The infuriated monster was right over him. Iri another 
moment those terrible tusks would have been buried in 
his body when, with a roar like that of a lion, Prince 
launched himself full at the walrus’ head, and his great 
fangs closed tightly in the soft part where the head joins 
the neck. Uttering a roar quite equal to the dog’s, the 
morse turned upon his new assailant; but just as he did 
so, Eric’s rifle spoke again. Its bullet crashed into the 
monster’s brain, and with a mad flurry, which loosened 
even Prince’s hold, it rolled over upon the sand, this time 
dead beyond question. 

Ben sprang to his feet, and rushing upon Eric, flung 

his arms around him, and gave him a hug that fairly 
F 


82 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


squeezed the breath out of him. Then, without a word, 
he turned to Prince, and repeated the operation. He 
then expressed his gratitude in these words : 

“ It was a good day for me when I saved your lives. 
You’ve done me good ever since, and now you’ve saved 
my life, and it’s only tit for tat. All right, my lad ; so 
long as there’s a drop of blood in my body, no harm shall 
come to either of you, that Ben Harden can fend off.” 

The business of beheading, which had been so start- 
ingly interrupted, was now resumed. From the way Ben 
handled his knife, he was evidently quite experienced at 
the work. They wanted only the tusks ; but to get them 
out in perfect condition, it would be necessary to boil the 
heads until the flesh came off readily ; so they had to 
take them back to the hut for that purpose. 

Well satisfied with the result of their hunt, they ate 
their lunch, and took a good rest before returning to the 
hut, which they reached early in the afternoon. They 
both felt that they were now bound to each other by ties 
of peculiar strength. Eric, uncertain and full of difficulty 
as to the future, somehow felt convinced that Ben would 
bring it out all right for him. He little imagined how 
much he would help himself in escaping. 

Chasing ponies and hunting walrus were not the only 
amusements Sable Island afforded Eric. As has been 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 83 

already mentioned, the grassy dells abounded with rabbits, 
and the marshy lake and ponds with wild fowl. The 
rabbit-shooting was really capital sport. The bunnies 
were fine big fellows, as lively and wary as any sports- 
man could wish, and to secure a good bag of them meant 
plenty of hard work. 

It was the rabbit-hunting that found Prince in his 

glory. Had he been a greyhound instead of a mastiff, 

he could not have entered more heartily into the chase. 

To be sure, he proved, upon the whole, rather more of a 

hindrance than a help ; but no suspicion of this fact ever 

dashed his bright spirit; and not for the world would 

Eric have hinted it to him. His redeeming quality lay 

in his retrieving, for he had been carefully trained to 

fetch and carry ; and he quickly learned to hunt out and 

brins: to them the victims of their muskets. The rabbit3 
© 

were not killed in the mere wantonness of sport. There 
was always an active demand for them at the hut, where 
Black Joe made them into savory stews. 

About the same time as the walrus came great numbers 
of the Greenland seal, which a little later brought forth 
their funny little whelps. These looked like amphibious 
puppies as they sprawled about the beach, or scuttled off 
into the water. They took Eric’s boyish fancy so strongly 
that he longed to have one for a pet. 


8i THE WEECKEES OF SABLE ISLAND. 

Ben soon gratified him by creeping cautiously upon the 
pack one day, and grasping by the tail a fine, sleek, shiny 
little fellow. After a couple of weeks’ confinement in a 
pen, that Eric built for him, with constant, kind attention, 
the captive became so contented with his new life, and 
so attached to his young master, that he was allowed his 
liberty. He showed not the slightest disposition to run 
away. Eric found him quite as intelligent and docile as 
a dog, and taught him many amusing tricks. 

So long as the weather was fine Eric had plenty of 
cures for low spirits. But in the winter the proportion 
of fine days to foul is very small on Sable Island. For a 
whole week, at a time, the sun would not appear, and 
long storms were frequent. Happily, there was one 
resource at hand for the stormy weather. 

Among the spoils of the “ Francis ” was a leather- 
covered box, so handsome and so heavy that one of the 
wreckers, feeling sure it contained something valuable, 
brought it carefully ashore. When he broke it open he 
was much disgusted to find that it contained nothing but 
books. He flung it into a corner, swearing that “lie had 
no book lamin’, and wliat’s more, didn’t want none.” 

Eric afterward picked it up, and was delighted to find 
in it a large assortment of interesting books. He stowed 
the box carefully away at the back of his bunk, and 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


85 


thenceforth, when compelled to stay indoors, was never 
without a book in his hands. He read over and over 
those well-selected volumes, enriching his mind with 
their finest passages. 

Yet, despite all those exertions, Eric was far from 
being really happy or content. His one thought was 
deliverance from his strange situation, and he could not 
disguise from himself how dark his future looked. Ben, 
of course, could now be relied upon to the uttermost. 
But while his protection availed so long as they remained 
upon the island, matters would, no doubt, be different 
when the time came to leave the place. Then not onlv 
Evil-Eye, but all the other wreckers, would undoubtedly 
see to it that there was no fear of his becoming an in- 
former, and placing them in peril of the law. 

As the winter wore away, they often talked about 
going to Boston ; and Eric gathered from their conversa- 
tion that with the coming of spring they looked for a 
schooner sent out by confederates to take them and their 
booty home. This schooner now became the supreme 
object of his concern. In it he saw his best, if not, indeed, 
his only hope of deliverance. Many an evening when 
he seemed deep in his books, he was, in reality, with 
strained ears and throbbing pulses, listening to the 
wreckers discussing their plans for the future. Tax his 


86 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


brains as he might, he could invent no satisfactory 
scheme. 

More than once he tried to talk with Ben about the 
matter. But whether Ben did not wish to confess that 
he had no plan himself, or whether he thought it best 
not to excite uncertain hope, he always refused to talk 
about it, generally saying : 

“We’ll see, my lad ; we’ll see. I’ll do my best for ye, 
never you fear.” 

As spring drew near, signs of excitement and eager 
expectation became visible in the wreckers. They spent 
most of the clear days upon the highest hills, peering out 
across the waves in search of the schooner. They did not 
know just when to expect her. Indeed, had a date been 
fixed, they would not have been any better off, for they 
were without any means of keeping an account of the 
days, except by observing the sun and moon. 

The days grew steadily longer and warmer, and yet no 
schooner appeared. Hope long deferred did not make 
the hot temper of the wreckers any more amiable, and 
Eric, worried as he was with his own troubles, found life 
harder than ever. Moreover, a new danger presently 
appeared. 

The majority of the wreckers showed entire indifference 
toward him. He and his big dog were Ben’s belongings, 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 87 

and so long as they got in nobody’s way they were let 
alone. But when day after day, and week after week 
slipped by, and the schooner did not arrive, the boy began 
to notice a change. Ugly, suspicious, threatening glances 
were cast upon him, and interchanged. Beyond a doubt, 
the peril of his position was alarmingly on the increase. 

The explanation was simple enough. Like all men of 
their class, the wreckers were intensely superstitious, and 
the wily villian, Evil-Eye, though indirectly, shrewdly 
seized upon the delay of the schooner to strike at Eric. 
He suggested to the men that the boy’s presence was the 
cause of the vessel’s non-appearance. He had brought 
them ill-luck; for not a wreck had come their way since 
his life had been spared. Now he was playing them an- 
other scurvy trick, and by some witchery, interfering with 
the carrying out of their plans. 

The seed so craftily sown took root at once. Only the 
curious feeling, half-fear, half-admiration, that they held 
toward Ben, saved Eric for a time from falling a victim 
to their superstition. 

Even his influence would not have availed much longer, 
had not, one fine morning in May, the welcome cry of 
“ Sail ho ! sail ho ! ” rung out lustily from a watcher on 
the highest hill. Soon the broad sails of a schooner 
appeared. 


88 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


Everything else was forgotten in the joy occasioned by 
this sight. But Evil-Eye, again foiled in his base designs, 
snarled savagely at Eric, and swore that he would have 
his own way yet. 

The water being too shallow, the schooner hove to 
about a mile from shore, and fired a gun to announce her 
arrival. But that was not necessary. All the inhabitants 
of the island were already on the beach to welcome her. 
Presently a boat was lowered, and three persons getting 
in, it was rowed swiftly ashore. The breakers were 
successfully passed with the aid of a number of the 
wreckers, who dashed into the surf, and drew the boat up 
high and dry upon the beach. 

The new-comers were very heartily, if somewhat roughly 
greeted. After the first excitement was over, Eric noticed 
they were looking at him curiously. Evil-Eye whispered 
among them, whereupon they shook their heads as though 
to say : 

“Oh no, that can’t be done. We’re quite sure that 
won’t do at all.” 

Eric’s heart sank when he saw this, and rightly guessed 
its meaning. There seemed, at best, but two chances for 
him. He would be either left behind upon the island in 
helpless solitude, or be taken to Boston, and there gotten 
rid of somehow 7 — in such a way that he could give no 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


89 


trouble to the wreckers. On the latter, surrounded 
though it was with uncertainties and dangers innumer- 
able, he pinned all his hopes. It offered some faint chance 
of ultimate deliverance. But would they take him on 
board the schooner? 


CHAPTER IX. 


FAREWELL TO SABLE ISLAND. 


REAT was the bustle and excitement at the wreckers’ 



vA quarters. The day happened to be particularly 
favorable for embarking — such a day, in fact, as might 
not come once in a month ; and everything must be done 
to make the most of it. But the very beauty of the day 
gave evidence of approaching change. It was what the 
sea-faring folk call a “weather-breeder/' because such 
lovely days are always followed by storm. 

None knew this better than the wreckers. They made 
all haste to transfer themselves and their booty to the 
schooner. In keen anxiety Eric watched the work going 
on. No one seemed to notice him, though several times 
he caught Evil-Eye regarding him with such a look of 
fiendish triumph as sent a shiver to his heart. 

Ben, who had his own interests to care for, cheered 
him a little by clapping him on the back as he passed, 
and saying, in his most encouraging tone : 

“ Keep up your heart, my lad. We’ll manage it some- 
how.” 

But the removal of the booty was almost complete, and 
90 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 91 

still he did not know his fate. Only another boat-load 
of stuff remained to be taken off ; and in the boat that 
came for this were Ben, Evil-Eye, and the captain of the 
schooner. Eric stood near the landing-place with Prince 
beside him. He knew that his future hung upon what 
might be decided within a few minutes. 

The boat was loaded, and the crew stood ready to 
launch her into the breakers. Now came the critical 
moment. How far the matter might have been discussed 
already Eric had no idea. He saw Ben draw the captain 
aside and engage him in earnest conversation, while Evil- 
Eye hung about as though he burned to put in a word. • 

His heart almost stopped beating as he watched the 
captain’s face. Evidently he was not unmoved by Ben’s 
arguments. His countenance showed he was wavering, 
and his opposition weakening. 

With rising hope, Eric noted this. Evil-Eye saw it 
too, but with different feelings. He thought it time to 
interfere, and, drawing nearer began, in a loud, half- 
threatening tone : 

“ Say, now, captain ” 

But before he could get out another word Ben wheeled 
round, his face aflame with anger. Rising to his utmost 
height, he drew a pistol from his belt, and pointing it 
straight at Evil-Eve’s breast, roared out : 


92 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


“ Curse you, I say. Hold that foul tongue of yours, 
or I’ll put a bullet through your heart before you can 
wink.” 

With a start of terror the ruffian shrank away from the 
giant who towered above him ; and satisfied that he would 
not venture to interpose again, Ben resumed his talk 
with the captain. For a little longer the dialogue con- 
tinued. What the arguments were that Ben used, or 
what inducements he offered, Eric did not learn until 
afterward. But, oh! what a bound his heart gave when 
Ben left the captain and came toward him, his face so 
full of relief as to seem almost radiant! 

“ It’s all right, my lad,” said he, grasping him by the 
shoulder and pushing him toward the boat. “You’re to 
come. Let’s hurry up, now, and get on board.” 

Too overjoyed to speak, Eric hastened to obey, giving 
Ben a look of unspeakable gratitude as he clasped his 
hand with passionate fervor. Evil-Eye scowled terribly 
when the boy sprang into the boat, and dared only mut- 
ter his protests, for clearly enough, Ben was in no mood 
for trifling, and the captain was evidently quite on his 
side. 

Without waiting for an invitation, Prince promptly 
leaped in beside hb young master, at which the men in 
the boat laughed, and the captain said, good-humoredly : 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


93 


“ Let him come too. He’s too good to leave behind.” 

In a few minutes more, Eric, with a feeling of glad re- 
lief beyond all power of words to express, stood upon the 
schooner’s deck and looked back at the island which for 
well-nigh half a year had been his prison — almost his 
grave. 

The low, broad, weather-beaten hut was easily visible. 
‘‘How good God was to protect me there! ” he thought, 
as he recalled the many scenes of violence he had wit- 
nessed. “ I wonder what is to become of me. Poor 
father must have given me up for dead long ago. Shall 
I ever get to him ? ” 

With many a “ Yo! heave ho! ’* the sailors set about 
raising the anchor ; the schooner’s broad wings were 
hoisted to catch the breeze already blowing; and soon she 
was speeding away southward toward Boston. 

They had just got well under weigh when, happening 
to glance around, Eric, who was standing on the bow, 
enjoving the swift rush of the schooner through the foam- 
ing water, noticed a number of the wreckers and the crew 
gathered about the captain on the poop. They were ex- 
amining something very carefully through his telescope. 
Following the direction of the glass, Eric could make out 
a dar^: object rising out of the water, several miles away 
on the port side. This was evidently the cause of the 


94 


THF WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


men's concern. Almost unconsciously he drew near the 
group, in order to hear what they were saying. The cap- 
tain just then handed the telescope to Evil-Eye. 

With an oath, he said, his face darkening with rage, 
“ It’s one of those cursed brigs, and no mistake, and she’s 
running right across our course. If we keep on this way 
we’ll fall right into her clutches. Look you, Evil-Eve, 
and see if I’m not right.” 

Evil-Eye took the glass and looked long and carefully. 
It was clear enough that he came to the same conclusion 
as the captain, for one of his most hideous scowls over- 
spread his countenance as he growled out, with a string 
of oaths : 

“It’s the brig, and no mistake, and we’re running 
straight into her jaws. We’ll have to go about and sail 
off shore, captain.” 

At once the captain roared out his orders, and the sail- 
ors sprang to obey. There was a rattling of blocks, a 
creaking of booms, a fierce flapping of canvas. After a 
moment’s hesitation in the eye of the wind, the schooner 
gracefully fell off, and was soon gliding away on the other 
tack, with the brig now almost directly astern. 

Whatever doubt there may have been on board the 
brig as to the propriety of pursuing the schooner, was 
dissipated by his sudden change of course ; and, still dis- 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


95 


tant though she was, a keen eye could make out that 
they were hoisting additional sails, and making every 
effort to overtake the schooner. 

There were yet three hours of daylight, and the brig 
was evidently a fast sailer. The schooner’s chance of es- 
cape lay in keeping her well astern until night came on, 
and then, by a sudden change of course, slipping away 
from her in the darkness. 

Every inch of canvas the schooner boasted was clapped 
on her, and, almost buried in foam, she rushed madly 
through the water. 

Eric’s first feeling, on seeing the brig, and the fear cre- 
ated among his captors, was of intense joy, and he watched 
its steady growth upon the horizon with eager anxiety. 
He did not notice the ominous looks cast upon him by 
Evil-Eve and others, until Ben, whose eyes seemed to mis3 
nothing, drew him away to his former post near the bows, 
saying, in a deep undertone : 

“ Come with me, lad. I want a word with you.” 

Ben’s countenance showed that he was much troubled, 
and Eric, full of hope though he was at the near prospect 
of his own deliverance, could not help feeling as though 
it were very selfish of him ; for it certainly meant that 
Ben would be placed in danger. He determined in his 
own mind that if the brig should capture the schooner, 


96 


THE WEECKEES OF SABLE ISLAND. 


he would plead so hard for his kind rescuer that no harm 
would be done him. 

“ Will the brig catch up to us, Ben ? ” he asked, eagerly. 
“ Do you think it will ? ” 

“ It’ll be a bad business for you, my lad, if it does,” 
answered Ben, in an unusually gruff tone. 

“ Why, Ben, what do you mean ? ” asked Eric, in sur- 
prise. 

“ Mean what I say,” retorted Ben. Then, after a 
moment’s silence, he went on. “ Captain says that brig’s 
been sent from Halifax after us, and nobody else ; and if 
she should catch us, you may be sure the wreckers ain’t 
going to leave you round to tell the people on the brig 
all you know about them. Before the brig’s alongside 
they’ll drop you over the bulwark with a weight that’ll 
prevent your ever showing up on top again.” 

At these words, whose truth Eric realized at once, his 
heart seemed turned to stone. And now, just as passion- 
ately as he had prayed that the brig might overtake them, 
did he pray that the schooner might keep out of its 
reach. 

In the meantime, the two vessels were tearing through 
the water without much change in their relative positions. 

Darkness was drawing near. As the sun went down, 
the change that the beauty of the morning foreboded, 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


97 


took place. The sky grew cloudy, the wind blew harder, 
and there was every sign of an approaching storm. 

As luck would have it, this state of affairs suited the 
schooner far better than the brig. With great exultation 
the wreckers noted that their pursuer was shortening 
sail. The square-rigged bark could not stand a storm as 
well as could the schooner. 

“ Hurrah ! 5 the captain shouted, gleefully. “ They’re 
taking in some of their canvas. They can’t stand this 
blow with so much top-hamper. We’ll show them a 
clean pair of heels yet.” 

And so it turned out. With bow buried in foam, and 
decks awash, the schooner staggered swiftly onward under 
full press of sail, although every moment the canvas 
threatened to tear itself out of the bolts. Before the 
darkness enveloped her the brig had disappeared behind, 
completely distanced. Everybody on board breathed 
more freely. Setting a course that, by a wide detour, 
would bring him in due time to Boston, the captain took 
satisfaction by cursing the brig for causing him the loss 
of a whole day at least. 

That night Ben, for the first time, told Eric what had 
been arranged concerning him. On their arrival in Bos- 
ton he was to be kept hidden in the hold until the time 

came for the sailing of a ship for England, about which 
G 


98 


THE WKECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


the captain knew. He would be placed on board thi3 
ship as cabin boy. When she reached her destination 
he might make his way to his friends the best he could. 
By that time the wreckers (none of whom intended to re- 
turn to Sable Island) would have disposed of their booty, 
and scattered beyond all possibility of being caught. 

Ben did not add, as he might have done, that in order 
to effect this arrangement he had to bribe the captain, by 
turning over to him one-half of his own interest in the 
schooner’s cargo. 

After living in peril of death for so many months, this 
plan filled Eric’s heart with joy. It might mean many 
more hardships, but it also meant return to those who 
were now mourning him as dead. He thanked Ben over 
and over again, assuring him he would never forget his 
wonderful kindness ; and as Ben listened in silence there 
was a glistening in the corner of his eye that showed he 
was not unmoved. The storm blew itself out during the 
night, and was followed by a steady breeze, which bore 
the schooner along so fast that ere the sun went down on 
the following afternoon she was gliding up Boston Bay, 
looking as innocent as any ordinary fishing schooi^er. 
The anchor dove with a big splash into the still water, 
the chain rattled noisily through the hawse-hole, and the 
voyage was ended. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


99 


Without delay a boat was lowered. The captain and 
Evil -Eye got into it, inviting Ben to accompany them, 
but he declined. He intended to watch over Eric until 
he should be taken to the English ship. The boat rowed 
off, and before it returned Eric was sound asleep. 

He was awakened by the singing of the men as they 
toiled at the windlass, and the sullen rattle of the chain 
as it rose reluctantly link by link from the water Then 
he heard the waves rippling against the bow, and he 
knew that the schooner was moving. 

As he rightly guessed, she was making her way to her 
berth at the wharf. During all that day there was con- 
tinual motion on the deck, and the boy imprisoned in the 
hold tried to while away the long hours by guessing what 
it meant, and what the sailors were about. Ben brought 
him a bountiful breakfast, dinner, and tea. He stayed 
only while Eric ate, and did not seem much disposed to 
talk. He could not say exactly when the English ship 
would sail, but thought it would be soon. 

The schooner became much quieter by nightfall, for the 
majority of her crew had gone ashore. Soon there was 
perfect stillness, — the vessel at times seemed to be com- 
pletely deserted. There was a tower clock not far away 
which rang out the hours loudly, and Eric heard seven, 
eight and nine struck ere he fell asleep. 


100 THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

How long he had slept he knew not, when he was 
aroused by two men talking in loud tones on the deck 
just above him. They were evidently the worse for 
liquor, and had fallen into a dispute about something, 
Presently one of them exclaimed : 

“ It is there. I know it’s there. I’ll prove it to you.” 


CHAPTER X. 


RELEASE AND RETRIBUTION. 

T HEX came the sound of the fore-hatch being unfas- 
tened and lifted aside, and the light of a lantern 
flashed into the hold. Whatever the man sought, he soon 
found it ; for he said, triumphantly : 

“ There, now ! Do you see it? Didn’t I say right?” 
He drew the hatch back again, and with his companion 
went stumbling off to the cabin. As the hatch was 
opened, Eric shrank back into a corner ; for he knew not 
what the man might be about. But when all was silent 
again, he crept to the spot underneath the hatchway, and 
looked up. 

The instant he did so, he saw something that caused 
his heart to give a wild bound. It was one little star 
shining brightly into his eye. The sailor had carelessly 
left the hatch unfastened and drawn a little aside. 

The way of escape was there ! 

With bated breath and beating heart, Eric raised him- 
self softly and pushed at the hatch. At first it would not 
budge; but on his putting forth more strength it slid 
away a few inches, making no perceptible noise. 


101 


102 THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

Little by little he pushed at it until there was space 
enough for him to pass through. Then, with extreme 
caution, he lifted himself until he could survey the deck, 
and peered eagerly into the darkness to see if any of the 
men were about. There was no moon; but the stars 
shone their brightest, and as the- boy’s eyes were accus- 
tomed to the darkness, he could see fairly well. 

It was easy for him to swing himself up on the deck. 
Then, crouched in the deep shadow of the foremast, he 
looked anxiously about him. Not a soul was in sight. 
Not a sound disturbed the still air. The black line of 
the wharf rose but a few feet above the bulwarks. Glid- 
ing noiselessly across, he finally got upon the rail, and 
thence, with an active spring, upon the wharf. He was 
free! 

It was as deserted and silent as the schooner’s deck. 
Along one side was piled a line of casks and barrels, be- 
hind which he crept with the quietness of a cat until the 
tall warehouses were reached ; then, straightening him- 
self up, he moved more rapidly until he came out upon 
the street, which opened to right and left, leading away 
into the darkness — whither, he knew not. 

Taking the right turning, he hastened on, resolved to 
appeal for protection to the first respectable-looking 
person he might meet. By the dim light of infrequent 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 103 

oil-lamps at the corners, he could make out that he was 
in a street of shops, taverns, and warehouses. 

Some of the taverns were still open, but all the other 
buildings were closed. Very few persons were about; 
and as these all appeared to be seafaring folk, he care- 
fully avoided them, keeping in the shadow of porches and 
alley-ways until they passed. He was in a state of high 
excitement — his anxiety to find some safe refuge contend- 
ing with joy at his escape from the wrecker’s clutches. 

He must have gone about a quarter of a mile, when, 
just as he approached a tavern that was still in full 
blast, the door suddenly opened, and a broad band of 
light fell upon the sidewalk, in the midst of which ap- 
peared Evil-Eye, roaring out a drunken song as he beck- 
oned to others inside to follow him. 

For an instant Eric stood rooted to the spot with terror. 
His limbs seemed powerless. Then, as quick as a squirrel, 
he darted into a dark alley at his right, and, trembling 
like an aspen leaf, waited for Evil-Eye to pass. The 
drunken scoundrel lingered for what seemed an hour of 
agony to the terror-stricken boy ; but at length, being 
joined by his companions, staggered off toward the 
schooner. The boy, coming out from his retreat so soon 
as the coast was clear, made all haste in the other di- 
rection. 


104 THE WBECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

Following up the street, which turned and twisted in 
the puzzling fashion peculiar to Boston, he was glad to 
find it leading him to the upper part of the city ; and, 
after fifteen minutes’ smart walking, he came out into a 
broad avenue, lined on both sides with handsome houses. 
Here he would surely meet with some one to whom he 
could safely tell his story. 

Weary from excitement and exertion, he sat down 
upon a broad doorstep which was in the shadow itself, 
but commanded a stretch of sidewalk illuminated by a 
street lamp. He thought he would rest there awhile, and 
in the mean time some one would surely come along. 
Just as he sat down, the bell of a church-tower clock near 
by slowly tolled out the midnight hour. 

“ Oh, gracious ! How late it is ! ” he sighed. “ I do 
hope I shall not have to stay here all the night ! ” 

A few minutes later he heard the sound of approach- 
ing steps. They were slow and deliberate ; not those of 
an unsteady reveler. They came nearer and nearer, and 
then there emerged into the line of light the figure of a 
man, tall and stately, wrapped in a black dress, over 
whose cloak collar fell long locks of snow-white hair. 

Not a moment did Eric hesitate. Springing from his 
hiding-place with a suddenness that caused the passer-by 
to start in some alarm, he caught hold of the ample cloak. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 105 


and, lifting up his face to the wearer, said, beseechingly : 
“ Oh, sir ! won’t you help me ? ” 

Quite reassured on seeing how youthful was this sudden 
disturber of his homeward walk, the gentleman looked 
down at the eager, pleading face, and, attracted at once 
by its honesty, put his hand kindly upon the boy’s shoul- 
der, saying : 

“Pray, what is the matter, my son? I will gladly 
help you, as may be within my power.” 

The grave, gentle words, with their assurance of pro- 
tection, wrought a quick revulsion in poor Eric’s feelings, 
strained as they had been for so long to their highest 
pitch. Instead of replying at once he burst into tears ; 
and his new-found friend, seeing that he had no ordinary 
case to deal with, took him by the arm, and soothingly 
said: 

“ Come with me. My house is near by. You shall 
tell me your story there.” 

Directing his steps to a large house, in which lights 
were still burning, he led Eric into a room whose walls 
were lined with rows of portly volumes. 

“ Now, my son,” said he, “ be seated ; and when you 
feel more composed, tell me your troubles. I am quite 
at your service.” 

With a delicious sense of security, such as he had not 


106 THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 

felt for many months, Eric sank into a big arm chair, and 
proceeded to tell his strange story to the grave old gen- 
tleman before him. With intense interest and sympathy 
did Dr. Saltonstall listen to the remarkable narrative as 
it was simply related, putting in a question now and then 
when he wanted fuller details. As soon as the boy had 
finished, the doctor arose, and again put on his hat and 
cloak. 

“ Master Copeland,” said he, “ this is a communication 
of the utmost importance, and it must be laid before the 
governor this very night, that immediate action thereon 
may be taken. I had but lately left his honor when, in 
God’s good providence, I met you. We will go at once to 
his mansion. Haply he has not yet retired for the night.” 

Forthwith the two set out, and, walking rapidly, were 
soon at the governor’s mansion. Fortunately he was 
still awake, and at once gave audience to his late visitors. 
Before him Eric rehearsed his story. The Honorable 
Mr. Strong listened with no less interest than had Dr. 
Saltonstall, nor was he less prompt in taking action. 
His secretary was summoned, and orders given for a 
strong posse of constables to be dispatched without loss 
of time in search of the schooner. 

Eric so fully described her that the finding of her would 
be an easy matter. 


THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 107 

But while this was being arranged, a thought flashed 
into Eric's mind which filled him with great concern. 
Ben was, no doubt, upon the schooner now, and would 
be captured with the others. Would he not, then, share 
their fate, whatever that might be ? And if so, would 
not Eric seem to be wickedly ungrateful if he made no 
effort to save him ? Then there was also his faithful 
friend Prince, to whom both Ben and himself were so 
much indebted. 

To think was to act. Going manfully up to the aus- 
tere-looking governor, he put in a passionate plea for 
the big man and the dog who had been such faithful 
protectors, and but for whom, indeed, he would not then 
be living. His honor was evidently touched by his loyal 
advocacy. 

“ Do not distress your mind, my lad,” said he, kindly. 
“ I have no doubt we can find a way of escape for your 
friend. He certainly deserves consideration at our 
hands; and your noble Prince shall be carefully sought 
for.” 

The remainder of the story is soon told, The schooner 
was readily found. The wreckers, surprised in their 
bunks, proved an easy capture, and before daybreak all 
were safely locked up in jail. Prince was also found and 
restored to the delighted Eric, who now felt as though 


108 THE WRECKERS OF SABLE ISLAND. 


his cup of rejoicing was full. The trial of the wreckers 
excited widespread interest, and made Eric the hero of 
the hour. Ben, taking the advice of Dr. Saltonstall, 
turned State’s evidence, and was released. But the other 
wreckers — from Evil-Eye to Black Bill — received the 
punishment they had so well merited. 

In the mean time Dr. Copeland had been sent for, and, 
hastening to Boston, he had the supreme delight of clasp- 
ing to his breast the boy whom he had all through the 
long winter been mourning as lost to him forever. The 
meeting between father and son was touching. It 
seemed as though the doctor could never sufficiently as- 
sure himself that it was really his Eric who stood before 
him, browner of face and bigger of form, but otherwise 
unchanged by his thrilling experiences among the Wreck- 
ers of Sable Island. 


•305 


THE END. 
















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